Es Sólo Tu Corazón
by chris locke
Summary: Lovino has been in love with Spain for as long as he can remember. All he wants is to be with his former caretaker, but he soon finds out that the Spain he knew as a child is no longer there...and the real one is far more dangerous. Spamano, yandere!Spain
1. Meet Me

_SPAMANO! Recently I've been very interested in this pairing (and yandere!Spain, but that's a whole different enchilada) so I decided to write something about it. I don't know where this will go, or what will happen, but I hope you like it either way! The rating may go up, it may not. Depends on my mood. _

_This is going to be yaoi. It will be gay. But gay means happy, right? ;)_

_I don't own Hetalia, and never will T.T_

...

Spain sat in his chair at the international meeting, his head resting lightly on his hand. He gazed with half-lidded eyes at Germany, who was giving a presentation on factory production in the EU. His curly hair was slightly unkempt, his shirt unbuttoned a bit at the top. He sighed a little, closing his eyes for a moment as he let it out. Lovino watched all this from across the table, pretending not to be completely transfixed.

Oh, he saw everything. He saw the light bags under Spain's eyes, he saw the dark mark on his collarbone. The pangs of jealousy were difficult to quell as Lovino clenched and unclenched his fists. He stared at Spain, trying his best not to imagine someone _else_ kissing HIS SPAIN, someone else holding HIS SPAIN, someone else making love to HIS SPAIN. Well, it wasn't exactly _his_ Spain, at least not yet. His former caretaker didn't talk with him much, save for a little fond reminiscing or the occasional phone call. It was stupid how little they talked, after they'd spent so much of his childhood together.

Spain was really a beautiful nation. His curly hair framed his face, while his soft brown eyes could always manage to be comforting. He was tanned and fit, from working and playing football. He was happy-go-lucky, smiling, fun to be around. Unfortunately, he was also the "Country of Passion," as he never let anyone forget. What this really translated to was the "Country of One-Night Stands" and the "Country of Whorishness." These were things Lovino detested about Spain, the fact that on any given night he could be found in bed with any person. Male or female, young or old, good or bad looking, he could make anyone feel like they were absolutely perfect just by the fact that he was taking his time to be with them.

Not that Lovino knew this first-hand. For some reason Spain had never decided that Lovino was worth it, or maybe he was grossed out by the idea of having sex with his former charge. Then again, Lovino didn't just want sex. He was the last to admit it, damn you, but he really liked Spain. Like…well, he was sure as hell not going to say _love_, but you get the point. The feelings had developed about the time when he and Feliciano got together as one country, when he finally had to leave Spain. It was a bit after that, he realized how much he really missed the older country.

Germany kept rambling on about something that nobody actually cared about, and Spain stared lazily at him. Lovino looked down at the papers out in front of him. The lights in the room were out, so the main source of light came from the slideshow presentation Germany was giving, so everything was bathed in a fine blue light. The papers were almost impossible to see, but it didn't really matter, because Lovino wasn't paying any attention to that. He looked back up at Spain, who now had a small noncommittal smile on his face. It was withdrawn and light, completely removed from the situation. It was a look that Lovino loved, the calm and cool Spain who in that moment looked so much like everything Lovino couldn't be. Completely uninvolved with everything around him. Nothing could bother him. It was perfect.

Suddenly, Spain's eyes left Germany and the presentation and came directly to Lovino. They paused on him for a second, and the politely amused look on Spain's face turned into a full-blown smile. Lovino felt a slight tingle rush through him, a little bit of a rush at seeing Spain look at him like that. He didn't smile back, of course, because when was the last time he'd smiled? He quickly averted his eyes, thankful for the dark room as it successfully hid his blush. Stupid Spain and the stupid effect that one look could have on him. Damn him.

Lovino looked up at Germany and the presentation for the first time, and upon immediately seeing a line graph he looked away. He scanned the other countries, who were talking softly with each other or fiddling with the stacks of papers in front of them or drawing. Greece was asleep. America leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. Nobody was actually paying attention, save for England, Austria and Sweden. And still Germany rambled on, something about the metalworking industry and how many cars he'd made this year. Lovino's eyes drifted back to Spain, as they always did. The other nation was looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling, the same cool smile that Lovino loved back on his face.

His neck was exposed, and Lovino let himself stare openly. The hickey was partially concealed by his collar, so Lovino began to imagine himself right there, sitting on Spain's lap, leaning over him and kissing down his neck and chest, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time, looking into Spain's eyes and calling him by his human name…now on a bed, alone in Spain's hotel room…Spain whispering his name…gasping at his touch…

Lovino shook his head to clear out the thoughts. Here he was, in a fricking international meeting, getting horny by staring at someone's neck. Had it been _that_ long since he got some? He rubbed at his temples, closing his eyes. He was tired, and had had a long day. Waking up early, getting on a plane, going all the way over to the US, getting a hotel, eating, getting ready for the meeting (which took a long time because he had to do his hair and make sure he had his suit pressed…he just wanted to look nice. Don't judge.) Going to the meeting, sitting here, staring at Spain, imagining how nice it would be just to be there with him…alone…

Shit, he was doing it again. It wasn't like he could help it when Spain was right across from him, his head tilted all the way back, starting to fall asleep. Lovino cursed how long the meeting was going to take before he could finally talk to Spain. He'd do that today, he decided, he'd just walk up to Spain and start a conversation with him. It would be easy enough, because Spain was a good person to talk to. He never wanted to make anyone feel bad, so he'd listen. Not that Lovino would have to rely on his kindness, though. He was interesting enough for Spain to want to talk to him. Why was he even obsessing over this? It would be great, and he'd feel nice and confident afterward.

After what seemed like an eternity Germany finished his presentation and started to pack his things back up. Everyone started clapping, so Lovino joined in. Spain lifted his head and clapped lightly, blinking a few times. He rested his head back on his hand, leaning lazily over the table.

"Alright, everyone," England said after standing and clearing his throat. "We're going to take an hour hiatus for food and then we'll be back. Make sure you're back in your seat by eight o'clock."

People started to stand up, so Lovino joined them. He didn't pick up any of his stuff, letting it sit at his place. Spain stood up gracefully, pushing his chair in before starting around the table. Lovino stood in his place for a moment, waiting for Spain to come around to the door. He felt butterflies in his stomach as he prepared what he was going to say. Not that he was worried or anything. He was suave enough to get away with anything, wasn't he? No problem there. He took a deep breath, nodding to himself as he started in Spain's direction.

The curly-haired nation's eyes lit up as he saw Lovino approaching, and Lovino felt the same rush as before flooding through him. So Spain was genuinely happy to see him, huh? That was good. Very good. It would make the whole conversation so much easier. Okay. There was Spain. Time to say hi. Hello, maybe. To sound more formal, you know. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Why was he freaking out over just a little conversation? It was nothing big. He'd done it before, millions of times. Hey, Spain. Hey, Antonio. What's up? How have you been? I'm fine, thanks. You want to go grab something to eat?

Spain started by him, and Lovino got ready. "Hey…uh…Spain."

Spain turned to Lovino, eyes bright. He really was beautiful, with his soft eyes and dark hair, his muscular body, his smile… "Hi, Lovi! How are you?"

"I'm okay. What about you?" It was slow and stilted, and Lovino cursed his own completely unexplained nervousness. There was absolutely no reason, besides the fact that he hadn't seen Spain in a long time, for him to be so incapable.

"I'm great, thanks!" Spain was always so chipper and happy. Lovino didn't smile, because he never smiled, and he wondered how many times he was going to have to go hit his head against a wall before he could gain his bearings again. There was a call from just outside the room, and Spain's attention immediately shifted.

"I'm sorry, Lovi, I have to go," he said, and Lovino felt his heart sink. Just as Spain finished speaking France came up to the two of them. Fucking France. Why did he have to show up at the exact wrong time, all the time? Didn't he have something better to do, like molest children, or hump something?

"_Mon Antoine_, we must go!" France completely ignored Lovino at first, his hair pulled up into a ponytail with his hands in the pockets of his suit. Girly asshole. Lovino scowled darkly at the snail-eating bastard.

"Bye!" Spain said, waving to Lovino as he walked away with France. Lovino watched in disgust as France's arm curled around Spain's waist, hand resting lightly on the dark-haired nation's hip. Prussia joined them, grinning wildly. He said something, and Spain burst into laughter. Then they were gone, leaving Lovino to stand by himself, one of the few people still in the room. Feliciano was bouncing around Germany, tugging on his arm, saying something about going to go get pasta. The taller man was trying to push him away, stacking papers.

Greece was still asleep in his chair, snoring softly, and England was being dragged out the door by America, who was yelling something at him about McDonalds and "real food." The room, which had just moments before erupted into sound, was now quieting down. Lovino scanned the people who were still here, deciding that he couldn't go eat with any of them. He felt a bit sick to his stomach. It was true that Spain had a life outside of Lovino's past. His former charge had just been a bit of an afterthought, and he had his own friends and social life. Lovino wasn't that important to him.

Lovino sighed, his usual grimace plastered on his face as he walked out of the meeting room. The hallway was almost empty, with a few stragglers here and there. Lovino shoved his hands in his pockets, heading down the hallway to the lobby and then the door. The entire wall surrounding the door was made of windows, so he could very clearly see the cobbled square outside the hotel. Spain and his friends were walking, and Lovino could see what they were doing. Prussia had his arm thrown around Spain's shoulders, and France's hand drifted lower and lower as they walked. Spain was laughing about something or other, his arms around each of the other men. Lovino coughed into his hand, pushing through the doors and heading in the other direction. He snuck one last glance before walking briskly across the plaza.

There was a small Starbucks across the street from the hotel, so Lovino crossed the abandoned street and headed inside. Stupid Spain and his stupid friend and this stupid meeting and stupid FUCKING France, and stupid him for feeling like this. There was hardly a line at the café, so he got a coffee (plain, none of those stupid fake Italian names) and some sandwich rather quickly. He didn't really care. He sat down at one of the tables, looking around at the other people. There was nobody else from the meeting, so he felt very alone. That was okay, because lonely was how he spent most of his time. He couldn't help the fact that Spain kept flashing through his mind, like he always did whenever they were in contact for even the shortest amount of time. This happened every time. Lovino would try to say hi, or try to start a conversation, try to take the initiative, but it never worked out. Spain had so many other friends, and he was good looking enough to get anyone in bed with him, so he could do whatever he wanted. Lovino was sour, unlikeable, he wasn't smooth or very handsome, and he was socially awkward.

After he finished his sandwich he check his watch. He'd only used about twenty minutes of the hour lunch break, which meant he had a lot of time to just kill, thinking about Spain and his stupid Spanish ways. Speaking of which, Lovino would have to brush up on his Spanish soon. That would make Spain happy, wouldn't it? If they could speak in his mother tongue, it made the conversations more personal, didn't it? Neither France nor Prussia could speak Spanish, he was sure. That would give him an edge.

Or maybe he was just overreacting. He tended to do that, so it would be no surprise. It could have been his imagination when France had that look in his eyes at Spain, when he called him _"Mon Antoine," _and when he put his arm around him. Lovino sighed and stared down into his empty coffee cup. It wouldn't do to just sit here all day. He got up and threw everything away, heading out the door. The smell of New York hit him at once. Wrinkling his nose, he started down the street, looking in each store or restaurant as he passed. Occasionally he saw someone from the meeting, inside talking with others. He couldn't have been the only one who ate alone, right? From what he was seeing, that's what it seemed like.

He passed an Italian restaurant, seeing Feliciano and Ludwig inside. His little brother was clinging to the German's arm from his seat, and as they spoke he leaned up and planted a little kiss on Germany's jaw. Lovino turned away, biting his lip. Why did they have to be so touchy-feely in public? It was disgusting. He sighed sharply, continuing down the street with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. As he passed each building he felt a little twinge of hope that maybe, _maybe_, Spain would be inside. With each passing minute he felt his disappointment escalate. At one point he thought he saw the curly hair, but it turned out just to be Latvia, picking at a slice of pizza with Lithuania, Estonia and Sealand. Lovino really _had_ been the only one to eat alone, hadn't he? That sucked.

He checked his watch again. He still had another fifteen minutes or so to kill. He decided to head back to the hotel, so maybe he could find someone and stop feeling so goddamn lonely. He jogged across the street, heading down yet another until he reached the cobblestone plaza. There were a few people heading back, but only a few here and there. Lovino pushed through the doors and stepped into the lobby. The man behind the desk in the back looked up at him as he entered the soft-looking red and maroon room, and in some armchairs sat a few other tenants of the hotel. One was reading a newspaper and one had a cup of coffee on a coffee table. The floors were shiny wood, and the entire place had very low light so it all looked dark and nondescript. In fact, if it weren't for the wall of windows, it would be almost impossible to see.

Lovino went down the hallway, stopping at the door to the meeting room. It was open, and inside he saw the room completely empty, save for Austria setting up some kind of presentation up in the front. The lights were back on, and it looked all white and sterile compared to the rest of the hotel. The table was in an odd curve, with a large empty space in the middle. It was a huge table as well, able to fit the hundreds of countries who came to these meetings. Lovino went to his place at the table, stacking up and rearranging the papers and packets randomly. He looked around. Nobody else was there yet.

"Romano, can you get me that chart?" Austria called from the front of the room, pointing to where he'd been sitting. Lovino hated being called "Romano," but it was better than "South Italy" which is what a few nations called him.

"You have legs, you get it," he said, but he still walked over to Austria's place, picking up the piece of poster-board. It had a chart on each side, and some scribbles in the corner. Another corner was bent and fading. So Austria was still cheap enough to reuse everything. Oh well. Lovino, holding the old piece of poster paper by the corner as though it was a dead rat, brought it up to the front of the room, putting it on the floor by Austria's feet. He was thanked, to which he responded with "Yeah, yeah," and then he went back over to his seat. He wasn't completely heartless.

Other countries were starting to leak back into the meeting room. Lovino checked his watch again. Five minutes until the meeting would start again. Unconsciously, he felt a twinge of happiness. That meant he'd be able to see Spain again, even if just from across the table. He sat down, scooting his chair forward. The room gradually got louder and louder as others entered and sat down, talking the whole time. Country by country they came, and Lovino watched the door. No Spain, no France, no Prussia. Even America and a very sick-looking England came through before they did.

Lovino told himself to stop worrying. He'd get to see Spain before he knew it. It would just be a few more minutes. Not too long. And then, sure enough, just as Germany stood up to start the meeting Spain walked in proudly, followed closely by France and Prussia. They were all looking very happy with themselves, much to the annoyance of everyone else in the room. Germany cleared his throat.

"Thank you to everyone who arrived on time," he started. "Now, we're going to jump right back in. If you would please open up the 'Finances and Financial Projections' packet to page 17…"

Lovino dug through the little stack of papers in front of him until he found the packet. It was partially open, and he started flipping through pages. As he was doing so, a small piece of scrap paper fell out onto his lap. He dropped the packet, picking up the paper in surprise. He then looked around, seeing if anyone was watching. Austria had started to speak already, so most of the people were watching him. Cautiously, Lovino flipped the paper over, seeing a note scribbled quickly onto it. He read it, blinking a few times.

_Meet me in the plaza after the meeting._

That was it. Lovino turned the paper around, looking for a name, anything to identify the person who had given him the note. It had been tucked pretty well into the packet, so he knew that it couldn't have been for someone else. The only question now was who it was from. Almost everyone thought that Lovino was crass and unpolished, and they didn't want to spend any time with him. Unless this was some kind of threat, it seemed as though someone might have taken an interest in him. Immediately his eyes flicked to Spain, who was lazily flipping a pen back and forth. Then he scanned the rest of the room, trying to find some clue as to who the note was from. Nobody looked at him, nobody even glanced in his direction. After a little while he stopped looking, folding the piece of paper up neatly and sticking it in his pocket.

Now he was faced with a dilemma. Should he do what the note said or not? If it turned out to be someone he would…_like_ to get a note of this variety from, then he should definitely go. If it was someone who was a bit less desirable—he looked over at Russia, who was currently in the process of intimidating the crap out of Latvia—then he could think of nothing better to do than stand them up. It was really a hard decision. His first instinct was to crumple the note into a little ball and toss it into a trash can somewhere.

Whatever. He'd go. There was nothing it could hurt. Trying to not think about it anymore, he decided to start watching Spain again. It really was a good pastime. Spain once again had that calm, reserved look, but this time it was a bit more wild. Lovino felt his chest aching, wishing will all his being that he could have been there with Spain, France and Prussia, wherever it was they went. He always felt so out of the loop whenever they were around, knowing that the three of them had a history together, extending much farther back than he could remember, back before he was around. Spain had done so much and had been through so much before Lovino even came into his life, and it was a bit disconcerting.

"Over the past few years, as the economic slump has worsened, spending has actually gone _up_ in certain areas of Europe and especially North America…"

Austria was still droning on in his matter-of-fact tone, and Lovino felt unendingly bored. He kept his usual scowl on his face, examining Spain from afar the entire time. After what seemed like an eternity and a half Austria was done, and someone else came up to give a presentation. It was Sweden, whose mumbling and choppy speech made him difficult to understand. Then came India, Somalia and Brazil. Lovino was almost drifting off to sleep by the time the meeting was over.

When it ended everyone was told to pack their things up and be there in the morning by ten. Lovino sat in his chair for a moment, yawning widely. Then he started put his things into a briefcase. The note came flashing back into his memory, and he realized that he wasn't going to be going back up to his hotel room to sleep after all. As everyone cleared out, he realized that he had yet another chance to talk to Spain. Unlike earlier, however, he didn't feel the same anxiousness and he stopped when he saw France come up to Spain and put his arm around the dark-haired nation again. Stupid fucking France and his stupid fucking French ways.

And so, Lovino packed up and headed out of the hotel once more. He didn't speak to anyone, and realized that it had been hours since he'd spoken more than a few words. As he pushed through the glass doors into the now moonlit plaza he felt a bit of relief. Nobody was there yet. He pulled out the note again, rereading it. _Meet me in the plaza after the meeting._ It was just eight simple words (not that he counted or anything), and they gave absolutely no indication as to any of the important information he'd like to know about it. Like, _who?_ Or _why?_

He sat down on a bench, watching the hotel doors. For about five minutes there was no movement, and he wondered if it was a joke, or if he'd been stood up. Then, there was movement from inside, and someone walked out. They approached him, and when they got a bit closer they started to jog. As he watched them, he realized with shock that he knew exactly who it was. Oh God. Feliciano.

"Loviiiii~!" his younger brother yelled. Lovino blinked a few times, and then his annoyance started to show.

"Feliciano," he said dully. "Did you give me this note?" He held up the piece of paper between two fingers, waving it back and forth. Feliciano looked confused.

"No, I don't think so," he said. "But I was looking all over for you and I couldn't find you anywhere! I needed to tell you that I'm going to be going over to Germany's room tonight!"

"Oh."

"I didn't want you to worry or anything!"

Lovino choked out a laugh. "No chance of that."

Feliciano smiled. "Okay! Why are you sitting out here?"

"I'm enjoying the night air," Lovino said sarcastically. Feliciano's eyes brightened.

"Have fun!"

He skipped off back into the hotel, leaving Lovino alone again. He scowled at the ground, clutching his briefcase in his lap. Though he'd been trying to break himself of the habit he crossed his legs. For the next few minutes he sat there in silence. Every once in a while another person walked down the sidewalk, but soon they were gone.

After about twenty minutes, Lovino was getting impatient. He decided to go back inside, feeling very stupid and naïve. There were probably cameras somewhere, and fucking France was sitting there, laughing with Prussia and Spain about how stupid little Romano was. He clenched his fists angrily, tightening his grip on the briefcase.

"Lovino!" a voice yelled. Lovino whirled around, eyes wide. A figure walked toward him from across the darkened plaza, hands in their pockets. They looked up at him, a smile crossing their lips. Blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and their accent was very thick.

"_Mon cher_, I'm glad you showed up."

...

_Oooh. I hope you liked this first chapter, and I'm sorry if it is infinitely cliched. I wrote this with no plot in mind, so I hope it isn't crap :P_

_Review, fave, flame, whatever. I'll give you cookies if you give me love ^^_


	2. Liar

_Hey! I can't believe the positive feedback I've gotten on this story so far, and I'm happy you like it! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, everyone who favorited, and just to everyone who read it. Now, without further ado, here is chapter two!_

_..._

Lovino froze. For a moment he didn't exactly understand what was going on. Then he blinked a few times. So it was fucking _France_ who gave him the note, huh? What the hell could he want? It wasn't like they were best buddies or something. In fact, if there was anywhere else Lovino could be at that moment he would have been there. There was no way that he would be spending more than a second in the Frog's company. He turned and started to pull open the door to the lobby.

"Oh, that's no fun," stupid France said, tilting his head a little bit to the side. Lovino's lip started twitching, if just a little. He was such an idiot for thinking that anything could come out of waiting in a cold plaza at night because someone left a little note on his desk. What was he, eleven?

"Yeah, well fuck you," Lovino said, starting to go back inside once again. He had almost closed the door when a hand smoothly landed on the glass above his head, firmly securing the door in place. Lovino felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Fucking France was right behind him, and that was never a good place to be. He whirled around, scowling up at the smirking Frenchman. Then he ducked out of the way, sliding past the blonde nation and taking a few hurried steps away. His nails dug into the palm of his hand as he clutched the briefcase handle.

"I just want to talk," France said, taking his hand from the door and turning back to Lovino. "I think the topic may be of interest to you."

"How the hell would you know what I'm interested in?"

Fucking France smiled, crossing his arms and walking back up to Lovino, who started stepping back. He tried to keep a nice little meter-wide space between them, but it was getting harder as they started running out of plaza. France, who still had that sick smile on his face, opened his mouth to speak. "It's about Spain."

That caught Lovino off guard. His eyes widened for just a second, but then he regained his composure (not that…not that he ever lost it…). France's smirk became a full-blown perverted smile. Like he was going to rape you in the next couple seconds and you better get ready. God, that was disgusting, and Lovino didn't even want to contemplate it. His scowl returned, and he glared up at France through his bangs. It was almost too dark to see, but France moved closer and closer, and finally Lovino ran out of space to back up. There was a solid brick wall, belonging to the hotel, preventing him from backing up any farther. Feeling like some kind of cornered cat or something, his shoulders came up and he pushed his hand into France's chest, keeping him from advancing any farther.

"Calm down. _Antoine_ wanted me to talk to you. I'm just doing him a favor."

"What?" Lovino demanded, not wanting to spend any more time around that stupid fucking France. Then, to his horror, France took his wrist and pulled it out of the way, stepping close enough so his body was touching the small Italian's. Lovino froze immediately, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. "What does he want?"

"He's been keeping an eye on you," France said, his hands coming to rest on Lovino's hips. Lovino tried to bat them away, but France was very adamant about keeping them there and with the awkward position they were in he didn't have much leverage. The briefcase in his hand didn't help, but if he needed to get away quickly he didn't want for it to be on the ground. France chucked a little, a sound that made Lovino feel like kicking a puppy.

"He says he has been dying to talk to you, but you never seem interested."

France leaned in a little closer, pressing their bodies more firmly together. Lovino squeaked (a manly squeak, mind you), and then he tried to get rid of France's hands again. The taller nation let one hand come away, up to cradle Lovino's jaw. Despite Lovino's deathly glaring and struggling, he still managed to keep a hold on the smaller man. Their faces were only a few centimeters apart, and Lovino could smell the disgusting wine breath. He jerked his head to the side, trying to get away.

"He says he wants you," France whispered, his breath disgustingly hot against Lovino's ear. Suddenly, Lovino felt his head being turned. Then, to his complete shock, he felt lips press lightly against his own. It took a second to process what was happening. When it finally did, however, he went into overdrive. In half a second his fist had collided with France's gut and he was dashing toward the door. France, clutching his stomach, turned to Lovino as he ran away.

"That was from Spain, you know!"

"Go fuck a post!"

…

Lovino slammed his hotel door behind him, finally stopping to catch his breath. He rested his back on the wall, letting himself sink down to the floor. He was going to have to go gargle some bleach now, or eat a bar of soap. Or burn his face off. Or, better yet, burn France's face off. That would be nice. Very nice. He rested his head on his arms, the briefcase falling over to his side. He was still out of breath and shaking with adrenaline. This whole situation brought back too many unpleasant memories of…well…times he'd rather not remember. Regarding France. And molestation.

But what France had said was what was really bothering him. So Spain had been interested in him lately, but was too chicken to come talk to him about it? That sounded remarkably like a prank that France would pull. Tell the little lovesick guy that his crush likes him back, and watch what happens. Fucking Frog. Lovino carefully stood up, his legs still a little shaky. Then he shrugged out of his jacket and threw it on an armchair in the corner, loosening his tie a little before snatching it off. He unbuttoned his shirt as fast as possible, also tossing it in the corner. Shoes, belt and pants when next, and within moments he was in bed. He curled up onto his side, tucking his hand under the pillow.

There was still the doubt in his mind. The doubt that said that maybe France wasn't lying, and Spain really was interested in him, and he was throwing away a perfectly good opportunity. He should know when France was lying, he told himself, but for some reason he couldn't tell this time. He closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to the plaza. Although he didn't want to he relived the past few minutes. France stepping closer to him, pressing against him…it was disgusting and not something he cared to remember. Then again, if he pretended that it had been Spain instead…

He sighed, trying to replace the memory with Spain. Spain pressing up against him, hands resting on his hips…whispering in his ear, their lips meeting…this was much better. He squeezed his eyes closed and let himself fall into this newly edited memory. This time, he let it go farther, and he didn't run away. They sunk to the ground, Spain leaning over him, kissing him softly, his arms wrapping around Spain's neck…closer…leaning against each other…

_Rap rap!_

Lovino jumped, violently pulled from his fantasy as two knocks came on his hotel door. He squinted, rubbing at his eyes. The digital clock on the nightstand read midnight. Who could possibly be here so late at night? He sat up, pulling back the blanket and stumbling through the room in the dark. He came up to the door, peeking through the peephole.

Curly brown hair, soft brown eyes, tanned skin…he sucked in a breath, pulling back. Spain was here. Crap. Maybe he was just here to apologize about France. Or maybe Lovino had something of his. Or maybe…but no, Lovino couldn't get his hopes up. Spain was just here to say hi. Or to…or to…but what could he want in the middle of the night? It had to do with _fucking_ France and what had…happened earlier. Lovino took a deep breath, turning the doorknob and opening the door.

"Hello?" he asked, blinking a few times as the bright light from the hallway leaked in. It was only really then that he realized he was only wearing his underwear, and that Spain was standing at his door, and he looked like a completely idiot. Immediately he cursed himself, flushing red. Spain smiled warmly, as though he didn't notice.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" Spain looked a bit concerned, and Lovino quickly diffused his worries.

"No, I'm okay, I was just…sitting and…um…" Well shit. Couldn't he even form coherent sentences?

"I'm still sorry, but I just needed to talk to you. Is that okay?"

Spain was always so nice. Lovino sighed. "Sí."

He stepped to the side, beckoning for Spain to enter. As the curly-haired nation passed, he felt a twinge of excitement. Spain was actually coming into his hotel room because he wanted to talk…just with Lovino…nobody else was going to come along and ask him to go have lunch, or say that they were better friends. There was nobody to take Spain's attention away, and Lovino was excited at the prospect. Being alone in a room with the object of his desire, and he wondered why he hadn't taken more advantage of this kind of opportunity when he had been one of Spain's colonies. He closed the door behind them and flicked on the light, following Spain into the room.

Spain didn't sit down, instead leaning against the wall. Lovino sat down on the bed, crossing his legs. He felt Spain's eyes on him as they started the rather awkward conversation.

"I'm sorry about today," Spain said. "I wanted to go eat with you, but Francis and Gilbert made me go."

"Oh yeah?" Lovino said, trying to sound angry. "Well maybe I didn't want to eat with you at all. I was okay on my own." He crossed his arms.

Spain laughed a little, and Lovino had to refrain from smiling. He loved Spain's laugh over anything else, and just hearing it made him want to say something funny again. He didn't, however. That would be poor form in this kind of situation. So he kept quiet, looking down at his feet crossed in front of him.

"Okay, you didn't want to eat with me then." He paused for a moment. "Sorry about Francis."

Lovino scowled. "You should be."

"I didn't tell him to do that."

"Did you tell him not to?"

Spain looked a bit puzzled. "No, I guess I didn't." He walked over to the bed, sitting down next to Lovino. Lovino stiffened, one of his hands balling into a fist. He kept his eyes down, not afraid but just extraordinarily embarrassed at his reaction to the close proximity of the two of them. He looked away, toward the headboard.

"Why did you send him at all? You know I hate him."

"Lovi…" Spain smiled a little. "I'm sorry. He said he'd behave."

"And of course you'd believe him. Idiot."

"C'mon. Was it that bad?"

Lovino didn't move. "…I dunno. Doesn't matter."

Spain put his hand on Lovino's back, leaning in a bit closer. Lovino froze completely, barely breathing. Spain must have noticed this, because a small smile stretched across his lips. He moved in a little closer, so their legs were just touching. Lovino stared determinedly at his hands, the entire focus of his mind on Spain's hand.

"What did Francis tell you?"

Lovino gritted his teeth. "Why do you always have to bring him up?"

"I'm just curious."

"I dunno. Just stupid stuff, like…"

"Like?"

"Like never mind."

Spain leaned in a bit, so he could look at Lovino's face more clearly. Lovino tried his best to force the light red gracing his cheeks away, but it was futile. Spain brought his other hand to Lovino's cheek, lightly turning his head so they were looking face-to-face. He gave the younger man a reassuring look, smiling just a little. It was a very similar look to that restrained, calm one he gave during the meeting, but Lovino could see the deeper feeling behind it.

"He said that you…" Lovino tried starting, but the rest was too embarrassing for him to continue. He examined Spain's face, and as usual he saw that fatherly look, that look of worry, as though Lovino was a little kid with a problem at school. That was not the look he wanted. It was wrong in so many ways.

"Lovi…" Spain said quietly. "What?"

"Why do you always do that?" Lovino exploded. "You always act like I'm still some little kid, and then you go off with your_ real friends _and do whatever! I can't tag along because I'm just a nuisance, right? Dammit!" He felt his face grow warm, and he jerked out of Spain's grasp. He curled up by his pillow, his arms hugging his knees.

Spain didn't say anything for a moment. He just watched Lovino carefully, as though searching for something. Then he smiled, closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them, they met Lovino's eyes, smiling fondly. Lovino glared at him, clutching his legs closer. Then Spain scooted a little closer on the bed, so he was right next to the Italian man again. Then he brought up his hand, curling it under one of Lovino's hands. In a second he was holding it, still smiling.

"What did Francis say?" he asked again.

Lovino bit his lip, but he didn't take his hand away. How could he, when Spain was actually holding it, of his own free will…he decided to just go ahead. Whatever. "He said that you…you…um…" Maybe that hadn't been such a good idea. Now he was actually blushing, and Spain was right there to see it. Bring on the shame. "…wanted…me…"

"Well, I do."

Lovino's eyes widened. He froze, staring at his hand in Spain's. Then he brought his eyes up to the older man's face, blinking a few times. It was about then that he realized exactly what had been said, and his cheeks flushed deep red. He felt something in him stir, that familiar aching in his chest whenever he looked at Spain, but now it was different. It was much stronger, and accompanied by a feeling of something he hadn't experience in a while. Joy.

"Um…well…" he tried to say something, but there was nothing to say. Spain leaned in a bit closer, over Lovino's knees. The first touch of lips was soft, tender, and Lovino was in a state of shock. He stayed perfectly still, until Spain's hand came up to lightly cradle his jaw. Then he broke the kiss at once, jerking his head away. Spain stared at him, eyes set and determined.

"Lovino," he whispered, finally using the younger man's full name.

"Don't, okay? I don't want you to feel all sorry for me and everything. I'm fine. I'm fine on my own so you don't need to do this just to make me…" he trailed off, clutching his knees again.

"You are so dense sometimes."

Lovino was about to retort that Spain was the dense one, but he was suddenly cut off. The first thing he registered were Spain's lips against his, and then Spain's hands holding his own and pressing him against the headboard…this time he didn't resist. Spain's tongue ran across his lips, which Lovino quickly parted. The kiss deepened, and as it did it became more firm, more…for lack of a better word Lovino would have called it needy. But at the same time it wasn't, because Spain had control the entire time. He carefully took Lovino's hand, peeling them away from his legs and holding them both to his sides. Somehow he managed to maneuver his way between Lovino's legs, straightening them out so he could press his body against the younger man's.

After what seemed like forever (and yet far too little time), Spain broke the kiss, keeping his head close. He searched Lovino's face for a moment before leaning in past his face to whisper hotly in his ear. "That wasn't just for you," he barely whispered. Lovino felt himself flush again, but he didn't try to quell it. There was no way he was going to be able to do that, with Spain _right there_, kissing him and….and…and everything he'd wanted for so long was coming to him just this easily…

Lovino couldn't control it, as his eyes grew hot and his nose began to sting and _goddammit_ he was _not_ going to cry in front of Spain…but there was no stopping it. Once his eyes started to fill with tears he couldn't take it back. He made a small choking sound, trying not to openly cry. Spain immediately pulled away, reverting back to the fatherly mode again. He squeezed Lovino's hands, leaning back.

"Dammit…" Lovino said quietly, cursing himself. No better cockblock than starting to fucking _cry_. Could this day get any worse? Now Spain was probably going to go away, because who in the hell wants to have sex with someone who just starts randomly crying like a kid? He didn't meet Spain's gaze.

"I'm sorry, Lovi…" Spain said softly, that worried smile plastered on his face again. Lovino hated it now.

"Don't be, asshole," he said, sniffling. Okay, now he was getting the tears under control. It was just too overwhelming, and it was like his brain had just overloaded and shut down. He blinked a few times, taking one of his hands from Spain's and wiping at his eyes. He swallowed thickly, looking up at Spain. The older man had looked concerned and confused, like he wanted to comfort Lovino but didn't know what was making him sad.

"What's wrong?"

"Fuck this…" Lovino's eyes still felt warm, and he knew they were probably bright red. Not very sexy, huh? "I don't know. It's not about you."

"Francis?"

"No," Lovino said, trying to form an answer. "I mean…I like you. A lot. And…"

"I get it," Spain said, sitting back. He let go of Lovino's hand, making sure to move a bit farther away before he stood up. Lovino watched him, eyes wide. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before the words would come out.

"Goddammit, don't _go_."

Spain turned back, a bit surprised. Lovino looked up at him desperately, clutching the blanket in his fists. He couldn't let Spain leave now. Everything had been working out so _perfectly_ until he started crying. Goddamn body, fucking mind. Why did he have to be such an idiot sometimes? He swung his legs over the edge of the bed so he was facing Spain again. The older man looked like he was about to speak when someone cleared their throat.

Immediately, all eyes turned to the door. Lovino felt something inside him freeze over as his gaze met France in the doorway. The blonde man was leaning lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed. His hair was down, and his white shirt was unbuttoned. He looked expectantly at Spain, who froze.

"Are you done? It's time to come back to bed," he said, raising his eyebrows. He gave a nonchalant glance to Lovino, who felt the embarrassment well up inside of him. He turned to Spain, who was looking back and forth between the two men, eyes wide in shock. He opened his mouth, turning to Lovino.

"Lovi…It's not what you think…he was just…"

Lovino couldn't say anything. The embarrassment was now turning to outrage. So Spain had just come here to mess with him? Just came on down to have a little fun before he could go back and fuck the person he _really_ wanted? The whole thing was just a trick. France…fucking _France_…was still watching the two of them, a goddamn pleasant look on his face. Spain was still trying to form some kind of coherent sentence.

"I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?" France asked, a little smirk forming on his lips. He cocked his head to the side, his long hair shifting messily. Lovino closed his eyes, nails digging into his palms. Spain seemed to finally figure out what he wanted to say.

"That's not what he meant, Lovi. He was just saying that—"

"Fuck you."

Spain stopped, staring at Lovino in surprise. The words were cold and icy, and they _barely_ expressed any of the complete shame and disgust Lovino was feeling with himself. Spain tried again.

"I didn't mean that—"

"Fuck you!" Lovino stood up suddenly, nearly dashing past Spain and heading into the bathroom. He slammed the door, clicking the lock behind him. Then he pressed his back into the door, his head falling back to touch the metal. He sunk down to the floor, curling up again. He rested his chin on one of his knees, but this time the tears wouldn't come. He just stared at the wall, waiting until the voices outside stopped and the door closed.

"_He's just having a tantrum,_" he heard France say. Then Spain said something quietly, but he couldn't hear. Then there was a click as the door closed and then the room was silent. Lovino waited a few minutes, he couldn't tell if it was five or thirty, before he stood up and carefully unlocked the door. The lights in the room had been turned off, but other than that everything was where it had been left. He swallowed thickly before starting over to the chair where he'd thrown his clothes. Maybe he could go to Feliciano's room…

But no. The younger man had told him just earlier than night that he'd be spending the night in the potato bastard's room. So even his _little brother_ had someone, and he didn't. All he had was an unrequited love and three assholes who liked to mess with him. Who knew, maybe Spain was going back to fuck _Prussia_ too. Damn him, he could go do whatever he wanted. And Lovino was a game. A joke. Someone to mess with when you were bored.

He went to go lie down, curling up into a ball. Not even bothering to cover himself with the blanket he hid his face in the pillow, and for the second time that night he cried.

...

_Aw, poor Lovi, with no one to love him. Or is there? :3 We'll see. I'm still just making this up as I go along, so I hope you like it! _

_Please review, flame, love, hate, whatever. I give cookies for positive feedback ;)_


	3. Hiding

_Hey. I know it's been a while (I'm sorry) and this chapter is a bit shorter than the first two (also sorry) and not very much happens (once again, sorry), but it's been the end of the school year and very stressful. Now that school's over, though, and I don't have to worry about much, I hope to update this a little faster. :D I hope you enjoy this next chapter!_

...

Lovino opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the ceiling, a perfect white, kind of like paper. He then understood that it was morning, and then that he had a headache. Had he gotten drunk? But no, it wasn't a hangover headache. It was…wait…he was in a hotel…then it was morning and he had to go do something…what was it? He took a deep breath, blinking a few times. Then he rolled his head to the side, looking at the bright red numbers of the alarm clock. 10:34, they read. His hand came up to rub one of his eyes.

Suddenly, he froze. At first the number didn't register, but then somewhere in the back of his mind a realization came flooding over him. The second part of the meeting was today, wasn't it? When did he need to be there? Germany had said something along the lines of…oh shit. Shit shit shit.

He jumped up, nearly leaping out of bed. How could he have slept in _that_ late, to already be late for the meeting? What had he done to make himself so _tired_? Maybe he had been drinking or…or…

"Aaaah…" he groaned, resting his head against the wall. Spain and France. And him, sitting there crying like some kind of little bitch. Dammit. He closed his eyes, standing against the wall for a second. Maybe going to the meeting wasn't on his agenda today, not with Spain sitting right across from him the entire time. Wasn't it just yesterday that he had been ecstatic just to be anywhere _near_ the older country? Now he was like the plague, and Lovino'd had enough of that already. Anyway, France would be there too, and he'd be sure to hold the whole situation over Lovino's head.

It would be stupid not to go, though, just because of a little drama. America and England went to meetings after their big war, right? Austria and Hungary still went after their divorce. It was no big deal, he'd just have to stop staring and ignore everyone. He did that anyway, so it shouldn't be too big a deal. Maybe he'd talk with Feliciano, unless he was with the potato bastard. With all of his reassurances, though, Lovino couldn't help but recall the emotions from the night before. He also couldn't help recalling how Spain had actually kissed him. Like, a proper kiss. A full-on lips to lips kiss and…damn him.

Lovino also couldn't help but wonder if Spain had really gone to bed with France after the…events that had transpired. He was horny half the time so that was probably the case. It was a bit too much for Lovino to imagine Spain and France…together…but it really was like they were made for each other. Both were assholes and both couldn't keep it in their pants. Dammit. Lovino felt his nose starting to sting again. He _wasn't_ going to cry over whoever the hell Spain slept with. That was taking it a bit far, even for him. What he needed to do was get over this.

He glanced at the clock again, taking in how much time he had. Negative time, really. He decided to go take a shower, at the least. It wasn't like he could be late _and_ smell bad too. That wouldn't exactly be good for his image. Especially for Spain. Dammit. Stupid-ass Spain. It wasn't Lovino's fault that the older man had to be so sexy and…goddammit.

Life had to be so unfair. Lovino padded into the bathroom, eyes down. Taking a towel from the rack in the corner he launched it over the edge of the rod holding the shower curtain up. He turned on the water, slipping off his boxers and waiting for it to warm up. He held a hand underneath the stream, opening and closing his fist. After a moment it was deemed suitable and he stepped into the shower, immediately letting his head fall underneath the showerhead and directly in the path of the spray. He held it that way for a second, not actually caring about the stupid international meeting or anything else but where he was at that moment. Usually showers were just a hassle needed to keep clean, but now he was cherishing every second spent there.

A good half an hour later he emerged, towel wrapped around his waist. The mirror on the opposite side was completely fogged up, so he couldn't see himself. Taking one hand he cleared a spot in the center, examining his unclear reflection. It was something he always did, like a kind of routine. He tried to stop his hair from plastering to his head, and then he leaned over the sink to drag his finger through the undisturbed fog. He wrote, in uneven, choppy letters, "Antonio." Then (subconsciously, of course) he drew a heart around the name. He stared at it for a moment, contemplating erasing it. Then he decided that nobody would be in his room to see it before it disappeared, so he'd have nothing to worry about.

He dried off his hair as much as possible with a second towel. He'd always been rather modest, despite his reputation. Even alone he didn't like to walk around completely naked. After his hair was sufficiently dry and put into place, he unlocked the door and stepped out into the room.

It was, comparatively, probably the _last thing_ he would have _ever _expected when he saw Spain lying on his bed, reading a magazine.

He froze, eyes wide. At first it seemed like the older man hadn't seen him, and Lovino tried to back up quietly. When Spain's eyes met his, though, it was too late. He sat up, closing the magazine and setting it to the side. Lovino clutched the towel wrapped around his waist and melted into the wall, as though trying to pretend he wasn't there. Spain, of course, wasn't buying it.

"You," Spain started, examining Lovino, "You weren't trying to hide, were you?"

Lovino blinked. What was Spain _talking_ about? He swallowed. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"From me. You weren't trying to hide from me after…you know…" Spain trailed off, looking the most awkward he had in...well, since the night before. So it was just an awkward week, then.

"No," Lovino said sharply, harsher than he'd expected. "Why the hell would I do _that_?"

Spain didn't flinch or anything. He was used to Lovino's attitude, and now he was just staring at the younger man inquisitively.

"Then why are you still here?"

"I fucking slept in. Didn't know that was a crime."

Spain sighed, pursing his lips. "Okay. So, you're going?"

"Yeah. Shouldn't you be there already?" It was surprisingly easy to talk to Spain, even though he didn't particularly want to. Subconsciously, Lovino searched Spain's neck for any red marks. He didn't immediately see any, so for a second the conversation was smoother.

"I left to go find you. Do you mind if I take you there?"

"It's just down the elevator."

"I know…" Spain looked down for a second, breaking their eye contact for the first time. "I wanted to talk to you."

Lovino considered his options. He could either be mad at Spain and miss spending some time with him, or he could swallow his pride and let Spain walk him down. It was a tough decision. He was really surprised at how unemotional he felt. It wasn't like him at all just to be able to get over something like this so quickly.

"Hell, why not?"

Spain smiled, and Lovino forced himself not to. Was it really like the night before hadn't happened? Dammit, no, it had. And Lovino was being stupid and letting Spain get off way to easy about this whole thing. Stupid France. He always had to fuck things up, didn't he? It was just in his nature, to go screwing with other people's lives. He probably said all that stuff just to get Lovino riled up. At least, that's what the young Italian man told himself.

"You gotta get out of here, though. I need to get dressed."

Spain didn't move. "I don't mind."

"Ha ha, funny. Out."  
>Spain feigned innocence. "Why?"<p>

Lovino sighed sharply. "Whatever. Just stare at the wall or read your dumb magazine or something."

"I can think of a few things I'd rather stare at."

Lovino tried to force down a blush. Spain was just flattering him, the bastard. He watched Spain carefully as he went to the little closet where he'd hung everything up. Glancing back to Spain (who was reading his magazine again, facing the headboard), he quietly removed the suit jacket, leaving just the deep red dress shirt. He carefully took it off of the hanger before realizing he was missing something. Feeling kind of stupid but not showing it, he went back to the suitcase open on the floor and took out some underwear. Couldn't forget that.

He went back to the little alcove with the closet, changing as fast as possible out of his towel. He started to grab the pants when he felt something brush his hip. Both of them, actually. He stopped, eyes wide, as he realized that it was in fact Spain who had his hands on the younger man's hips, and it was in fact _Spain_ who was standing right behind him and he was in fact _really_ only wearing underwear.

Immediately he flushed red, looking at the floor. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asked, but there was only bewilderment in his voice.

"Just standing."

"Um…I…uh…" Now came the sudden burst of fantastic articulation Lovino recieved whenever Spain was nearby. Damn him.

"By all means, don't stop for me."

The hairs on Lovino's neck prickled as he felt Spain breath. It was so _close_ to his ear that it was killing him. He didn't move, waiting for Spain to do something. _Anything_; it really wouldn't matter anymore. Everything was speeding along for too fast for Lovino to catch up. Yesterday Spain had just been a far-off vision…and then he was an asshole…and now he was fucking sexy as hell and right behind him. Dammit.

"Lovi…"

"Stop it!" Lovino broke out of Spain's grasp, lurching forward and then whirling around to face the other man. "I don't know what the hell the past day has been for you, but for me it's been pretty shitty. Now, if you would just _go_ and leave me _alone_ for _two seconds_ I think today might not _suck as much_."

Spain stared at Lovino for a second. Then his eyes softened, and a small smile faded into his expression. "Lovi…I'm sorry."

"Dammit, don't start apologizing."

"No, I'm really sorry. I'll go."

"Come on, don't do that again."

"It's okay."

Lovino watched as Spain started out the door. He didn't stop the other man this time, too confused. Spain was really trying hard at this whole gentleman-thing, wasn't he? He was probably trying to make up for the night before, being all courteous and getting out of Lovino's way. It was fucking _irritating_, and Lovino stared at the door for a second.

He groaned suddenly, holding his forehead. He swayed side to side for a second before falling heavily onto the bed. Immediately, he felt something sticking into his back. He sat up, feeling the magazine below him. It was the one that Spain had been reading. He picked it up, and he started to read from where Spain had been. It was open to an article about…Lovino swallowed…how to fix a damaged relationship.

He started reading.

_Relationships are delicate things, and we can all probably say that at some point in our lives we have fouled one to the point where it seems irretrievable. We've said the wrong things, we've done something to make the other person upset and we don't know how to fix it. Maybe we've ignored them, maybe we made them feel like they weren't very special, maybe they feel like we used them. No matter how the distrust and betrayal came about, there are a few ways to help get it on the path to becoming right again._

Lovino read the passage again, blinking a few times. It was about then that he should have been blushing, or maybe he should have gone to talk to Spain…but he didn't feel that. In fact, he realized something that had been plaguing the back of his mind for the past few minutes. He didn't feel anything. Just…just indifference. Complete disregard for anything that Spain did. He may have been grieving more than he realized.

That kind of scared him, the fact that he could have emotions that he wasn't aware of. Or, rather, a surprising lack of emotions when he was usually so easily moved or pissed off. Even before, when Spain had been so close behind him, the feeling hadn't been the same. Not to say that he didn't still…have those feelings for the other country. He did. They just…they didn't seem as important.

Lovino got dressed quickly, leaving the magazine article open. He kept thinking, contemplating why the hell he didn't find it touching, or nice, or _something_. _Something at all_ would have been nice. When he was ready, he straightened his collar and quickly brushed his hair. He wanted to look nice, as usual. Some subtle ploy to get Spain to notice him, perhaps…and since when had he been so self-aware?

"Why is today so weird?" he asked out loud, but it wasn't really out loud because the sound only reached his own ears. Why did he feel so indifferent? He'd been sobbing, _bawling_ his eyes out the night before, but now he was just going on like nothing had happened. But it had happened, and now he was analyzing everything around him. That was the difference. He was making sure everything was exactly as it appeared to be.

He pushed the thought to the back of him mind as he started out of his room and down the carpeted hallway. In just a few minutes he reached the elevator and went down. He looked around, his eyes finding a poster about some attraction in the city. It was a restaurant or a resort or something…whatever it was it had palm trees and a big porch. Costa Rica tourism. Oh.

It was just a second before the elevator doors opened again and he was on the ground floor. Down another hallway and to the right and there was the door to the meeting hall. He looked down at his watch only to realize that he wasn't wearing a watch. Well, maybe he wasn't _so_ self-aware.

He carefully turned the doorknob and pushed into the room. His entrance was met with very little fanfare, and he simply took his seat. Switzerland was giving a presentation (again? Or was this is first time?) but nobody really noticed Lovino's appearance. As he sat down, he started to glance around at the other people. It was only as he watched them all reading papers or writing that he realized that his briefcase was still in his room. Dammit. First he comes late, then he's unprepared…

He looked over at Greece's papers. The muscular man was fast asleep, his head leaning back on the chair. Lovino figured he wouldn't be missing anything, so he shifted some of the packets over so he could see them easier. It was then that he decided that he wasn't actually all that interested, so he pushed them back and crossed his arms.

Now was the time for him to scan everyone yet again. His eyes flicked from person to person, giving half of them no second though. When his eyes passed over France, however, he saw something that intrigued him. A dark splotch on his cheek looked horribly out of place, but it was there. A bruise. Now, there were only a few ways that someone got a bruise on their cheek. One was falling onto a door. Another was standing up into the underside of a piano with your head to the side (not that Lovino had ever done that or anything.) A more common way was being punched. By the looks of it, hard.

Lovino stopped watching France to look down at his hands on the table. So someone punched France out. Asshole deserved it. It was about time, too. Lovino was surprised that something like this hadn't happened so much earlier.

Invariably, his eyes drifted to Spain again. The curly-haired country was looking up at Switzerland, but the look on his face was different than before, darker. He was…_scowling_, wasn't he? Lovino stared for a moment, eyes widening as a sudden realization came over him.

He'd never seen Spain angry before. Never…not _once_ in his life had he ever seen him angry. Annoyed, maybe, but it was always a pleasant kind of annoyed. Stressed, yes…confused, yes…disgusted, yes…but angry? He racked his brain for any moment. Any fraction of a moment. Nothing came up. Not from his days at Spain's house, not from any of the interaction they'd had afterward…absolutely nothing.

But now, as Spain thought Lovino wasn't watching, he was scowling and looking _really_ angry at something or other. Maybe it was just the light, or maybe…but no, Lovino knew it, and he couldn't take his eyes away. He analyzed every mark, every crevice, every line on Spain's face, embedding the expression in his memory.

But, as soon as it happened, Spain turned his eyes away, and they met Lovino's. Immediately the thin line of his lips formed into a full smile, his hard eyes melting. The breath caught in Lovino's throat. The change was so sudden. He blinked a few times, unsure of what to make of the situation. When Spain looked away again, the pleasant expression remained on his face. He visibly relaxed. It was so completely strange, foreign…and Lovino wondered why he'd never noticed it before.

Really, though, he was being so analytical of everything he saw. Maybe Spain was just happy to see him, or he was tired…there were a million other possibilities. Maybe it didn't have to do with Lovino at all. He looked down at the table again. Switzerland droned on, nearly as boring as Austria. In fact, the only real difference between their speeches was the greater abundance of violent threats in Switzerland's.

Lovino closed his eyes, leaning forward to rest his head on his hands. Shit, he was tired. He hadn't managed to look at a clock the entire previous night, but all of the really heavy stuff had to have happened sometime around three or four in the morning. That coupled with the sleeplessness he usually suffered from made for far too little sleep to run on. Spain's scowling face kept reappearing in his mind before at some indeterminate point he lost consciousness.

...

_So Spain's been hiding something hurhur~ This is a fairly crappy chapter but I hope that it isn't so bad :)_

_Review, Favorite, Love=Free Chocolate_


	4. I Want You

_Man, it's been a while. I'm so very sorry D:_

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed! There are so many, and it makes me a happy, happy person :D Okay, so this chapter is a bit weird, but considering what has happened in previous chapters I don't think anyone will mind much._

_Prepare yo'selves. For the yandere!Spain :D_

...

Lovino opened his eyes slowly to find that he was not in fact sitting at a table in a meeting. Nor was he even in the hotel. In fact, he was lying in the back of a car, staring up at the roof with a bewildered look on his face. He blinked a few times before straightening up, eyes still wide. He stared out the windshield for a moment, not caring how his hair was sticking up or how his shirt was bunched around his waist. In fact, all he really cared about was how the car was careening down a back alleyway at breakneck speed, and there were gunshots.

Oh, and Spain was driving.

As soon as the situation clicked in Lovino's brain, he went into full freak-out mode. He felt adrenaline start to course through his body, and he started shaking. He slammed his hand onto Spain's shoulder, shaking it violently.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he screeched, pitching forward as the car hit a pothole and bounced up into the air.

"Lie back down, Lovi," Spain said, not taking his eyes off of the road.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"

Spain looked briefly to Lovino, his eyes hard. "Get down!"

Lovino dropped back to the seat as a bullet shattered the back window. Spain cursed in Spanish, swerving the car violently as more gunshots peppered the air. Lovino fell sharply against the door of the car, smacking his head against the handle. He cried out, hands coming up to clutch what was probably already forming bruise.

"Are you okay?" Spain asked, turning almost all the way around in his seat.

"Dammit...get your eyes back on the fucking road!" Lovino yelled as the car almost smashed into a wall. He watched in horror as one of the side mirrors scraped against a brick wall and snapped off with a loud crack. Spain reached up to adjust his rearview mirror, and from his place in the back Lovino clearly saw the huge black car following them.

"What's going on?" he screamed over the roar of the air against the absent back window.

"I'll tell you later!"

Another bullet hit the car, embedding itself in the back door. Lovino screamed (but who _wouldn't_ scream?) and dropped to the floor, hiding himself at the foot of the backseat. After a moment, he decided to sit up a little more, looking over Spain's armrest and out the windshield.

It was at that moment that Spain decided that the street they were taking was unsatisfactory, and he suddenly jerked to the left. Lovino fell over again, catching himself on the passenger seat. His heart was pounding nearly out of his chest, and he still had absolutely no idea what the _fuck_ was going on. He stayed that way for a moment, clutching the passenger seat to stabilize himself, concentrating on how he was breathing and trying to calm the hell down.

"Okay."

Lovino jumped as Spain spoke. The older man had remained quiet for a few minutes now, and his voice piercing the dull roar of the back window was unexpected. Lovino took a deep breath.

"I'm going to count to three," Spain started calmly, "And on three you jump out of the left door, got it?"

Lovino blinked. "_What?_"

"Just trust me."

"I'm not fucking _jumping_—"

"One…"

Lovino kept protesting, but when Spain didn't respond he moved over to the left side of the car. He put his hand on the handle and squeezed it, waiting. Well, there went the calm, he realized as his heart sped up again.

"Two…"

"Fuck…fuck…fuck…" Lovino muttered under his breath, eyes wide. He prepared his legs for the jump, making sure the door would open.

The moment the word 'three' left Spain's lips, Lovino flung the door open, leaping out of the moving car. He ducked into a roll as he hit the ground, landing without too much pain on his part (you learned things while kidnapped by the mafia.) He heard a thud as Spain slammed into the grass in front of him. Since when had there been grass? He didn't question it, though, as he watched Antonio's car fly off of a cliff, the large, shiny pursuit car following it.

Lovino gave himself a moment to catch his breath. Then, calmly, collectedly, he attacked Spain, shaking his shoulders. "What the _fuck_ was all that?"

Spain stared at Lovino for a second before a grin cracked his face, and he burst into laughter. For almost a minute he sat there, laughing like an idiot as Lovino shook him back and forth. Then he wrapped the Italian man into a bone-crushing hug, still cackling.

"We're _alive_!" he exclaimed, laughing harder. Lovino took a second to process this.

"You weren't _sure_ we were going to be?"

Spain didn't respond, keeping Lovino in the hug. Then he held the younger man away at arm's length, examining him. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No. No thanks to you."

"Ay, _dios MIO _that was fun!"

This earned him a well-deserved smack. He kept grinning, even as he held his cheek in pain. Lovino crossed his arms.

"Answer me."

Spain grinned. "I don't really remember. Mostly there was some shooting and we all ran for our cars. I carried you all the way, you know," added proudly, giving Lovino a smug smile.

"I think I would have been okay."

"I'm sure, but for some reason they started following us, and so I had to get you away somehow."

"Who? And why me?"

"I don't know. They just started shooting so I ran. And because, _mi Lovi_, you're special."

He said the last part with a smirk, leaning in closer. Lovino watched as he crept up his body, until he was almost completely on top of the younger man. It happened in just a second, and he didn't really have time to process. The next thing he knew, Spain's lips were connected with his, and he really couldn't complain anymore.

He leaned back so he was lying down on the grass, Spain on top of him. Their kiss was deeper now, and he sighed into it. Spain smiled, breaking the kiss for just a moment. Lovino found himself, for the first time, not caring where they were or who was watching. Especially as Spain's knee came between his legs, brushing his crotch lightly.

He made a small noise, obviously unsatisfied with the brief touch. He adjusted his hips to regain the pressure, moaning almost silently as Spain got the message and moved his knee slightly. Then his lips were recaptured, and a hand snuck up his untucked shirt. He felt Spain's fingers ghosting over his stomach, then up to his chest, and he sighed contentedly as the older man's fingers brushed over one of his nipples.

"Ah, Lovi…" Spain whispered in his ear, hot breath making him shudder. Spain's hand crept out from under his shirt, drifting lower and lower until it reached the front of Lovino's pants. He made a small noise, his hands coming up to clutch at Spain's back. His breath came out, hot and labored, as Spain's lips left his and started down his neck, licking and kissing until they reached his collarbone. Then, Spain's free hand came up to unbutton his shirt, undoing each button slowly and carefully. Lovino closed his eyes tightly as Spain's hand started to work the front of his dress pants, and just as Spain finished with the last button…

Lovino's head slammed forward, hitting something hard. "Dammit!" he yelled, straightening up. He looked around to see an empty meeting room, and a pile of drool-coated papers in front of him. At first he didn't comprehend exactly what had just happened, and then he realized. It had been a fucking _dream_. Why hadn't he realized it earlier, that it had been entirely _ridiculous_? So he gets kidnapped by Spain to avoid some gang or something, and as they are escaping they suddenly start having sex on someone's lawn? What the fuck was _wrong_ with him?

He sighed sharply, standing up. Then he looked up at the clock. So it was lunch already. Well, that had certainly been a productive morning. He realized with a bit of relief that his earlier mood was gone, and he felt like himself again. No more observing everything, no more indifference toward Spain…more like pissed off at Spain…how had he ever forgiven him? Jesus. Asshole.

The memory of the large bruise on France's cheek made the entire thing a bit more bearable, though, so he couldn't be _entirely_ mad. What he could be pissed about, however, was how everyone had just ditched him in the meeting and gone to lunch. They could all go fuck themselves while they were at it. Oh well, he thought, another meal at Starbucks.

"Oh _fuck off_!"

Lovino whipped around as the voice came echoing down the hallway. He blinked a few times, entirely bewildered. Usually when you heard profanities that loud they were coming from his mouth. There was a thud, and someone cried out. Then there was a quieter voice, the one belonging to the hotel manager. What the hell was going on? He crept out of the meeting room, walking down the hallway as silently as possible.

"Leave me alone, you _hijo de puta_, before I fucking _knock you into hell myself_!"

Lovino stopped, just as he was about to peer around the corner into the lobby. The voice…the Spanish…it was all making sense now. That was Spain yelling, and it was something that had never crossed Lovino's ears before. His heart started to beat a bit faster as he realized that, like before, he'd never heard Spain this angry.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave…"

"As if I'd want to fucking _stay_!"

"Looks like someone's decided to go all _Inquisition_ on us again…"

There was a thud, and Lovino realized with a bit of nausea that it was flesh hitting flesh. There was a silent moment, and all he could hear was the pulse of his heartbeat in his chest. He scrunched his eyes closed, working up the courage to enter before taking a step into the room. At first he went unnoticed, but as his staring became more pronounced all eyes shot to him.

What he saw made his stomach drop.

There stood Spain, a deathly glare directed at the man lying on the floor. It was France, and he appeared to be unconscious. Lovino's eyes could do nothing but get wider and wider as each person in the room turned to look at him. Finally, Spain's gaze fluttered up, and the older man froze. He remained, completely motionless, as panic and confusion flicked across his face. Then, he did something that made Lovino's breath catch in his throat.

A warm smile, one that even reached his eyes, found its way into Spain's features. "_Mi Lovi…_" he said quietly, and his eyes started to look a bit sad. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"I…" Lovino tried speaking, but nothing would come out. "Ah…"

Spain stepped over France's motionless body, walking toward Lovino. The younger man took an unconscious step backward, and he saw Spain's face fall as he did it. A sad smile still held its place, however, and it was confusing.

"Please don't be afraid of me," Spain said, and the emotion in his voice was starting to gnaw at Lovino's defenses. He swallowed thickly, finally managing to force out a few words.

"What did…what did you _do_?"

The horror in his mind must have read in his words, because Spain sighed. "I'm sorry."

"What did you _DO_?" The reality of the situation seemed to crash over Lovino. He _knew_ he shouldn't be as disturbed as he was by this…he _knew_ that these things happened…hell, he _knew_ about Spain's history but for some reason he hadn't really understood. Spain was a violent person. Spain hurt people. Spain hurt France…and even through the hatred that Lovino felt for the Frenchman he still felt a bit sick when he looked at the unconscious man on the floor.

"He deserved it," Spain reasoned, realizing that trying to pretend like the incident hadn't occurred was proving fruitless.

"_How_?"

Spain examined Lovino's face for a moment before answering. "He made you cry."

…

Before he realized what was happening Lovino was already halfway down the street. He had run, and when he started to run he didn't stop until he was as far away from whatever threat there was as possible. He stumbled to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, about two blocks away from the hotel. He caught himself on the side of a building, ignoring everyone who passed by. His breath came out ragged and choppy, and he sank down to the ground.

If it had been anyone else, anyone else at all, he would have stayed. He wouldn't have freaked out like that. But because it was _Spain_, of all people, was why he had left. Oh God. Spain did that. Spain did all that. He'd never seen the older man do anything like that before. It was…it was absolutely terrifying.

His hand came up to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Jesus. He sighed, sitting on the ground until he caught his breath. Then he stood slowly, taking his hand away and blinking. People walked around him, barely noticing he was there. That is, until…

"Romano!"

He whipped around to see Germany looking at him curiously. Feliciano was clutching his arm, eyes wide. Lovino blinked again, and only as his little brother came rushing forward did he realize that his eyes were wet.

"What's wrong?" Feliciano asked, his voice thick with worry. Lovino shook his head, rubbing at his eyes furiously. When he felt sure that they were dry he looked at his brother, his face in its usual scowl. Feliciano put his hand on Lovino's shoulder.

"I'm okay."

"Then why were you crying?"

"I wasn't crying!"

"Lovi…"

"I'm good. It's all good."

Feliciano didn't look convinced. "Who made you cry?"

"No one."

"Who?"

"_Nessuno_."

"Did you stub your toe?"

Lovino shoved Feliciano's hand away. "Fuck you."

"We were going to lunch, do you want to come?"

Lovino's eyes flicked to Germany, who looked like he was seconds away from protest. Feliciano looked too, and as he saw the potato bastard's expression his turned into one of exasperation.

"Sure," Lovino said, sending a small smile Germany's way. He knew that its effect would be muddled by the red rings he was positive surrounded his eyes, but he didn't really care. There was a pause, and then Germany shook his head.

"Fine."

"Ve~!" Italy squealed. Lovino had never really known what that meant, but he didn't care. The next second he found himself being dragged down the street, nearly tripping over his feet. In a moment they were inside a restaurant, with Germany in close pursuit. Lovino couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard the blond nation grumbling to himself, and it wasn't in English.

"Lovi! Let's sit over there!" Feliciano pointed excitedly at the only empty table in the entire restaurant. Lovino sighed. Trust his little brother to find the most crowded restaurant in the city for the two most introverted countries. He sat down on one side, letting Feliciano and potato bastard get the bench.

Almost immediately they were attacked by a waitress. Literally. She pounced on them, a vibrant grin plastered on her face.

"Hey! I'm Kelly and I'll be your server today! We have a bunch of new specials today in case you guys are feeling extra-hungry! I hope you are, because we have some of the best food in town!" she nearly screamed as she handed them all menus. So not only would the restaurant be crowded, but they'd have to wait for food, too. Couldn't Feliciano pick 'em.

"Anyone want a drink? We have lemonade and coke and tea and coffee and water and wine but you'll have to show me your ID first if you want that! You're all over legal age, right?" she said brightly, the grin still maintaining its place on her face. Lovino marveled at how she got all that out on one breath. Feliciano and his bitch ordered whatever. Lovino swallowed.

"Water."

"Okey dokey! I'll be back in just a few minutes to take your orders! Like I said, we have a lot of specials today and—oh, excuse me!" Someone flagged her down from another table, and the Kelly was gone.

There was a long pause. "I feel like I was just hit by a bus," Germany said quietly.

"Or Feliciano."

"Hey!"

Lovino sighed, looking around. There were about a million people inside, but he could still see the street through the large windows. He watched a few people walk by. There was always such a variety, when you looked at big cities. Tall people, short people, skinny, fat, male, female, beautiful, ugly, this language, that language. That was one of the reasons why Lovino hated cities. He hated people. All of them. There were a few exceptions, maybe. But not many. They all had problems and emotions and they were so _exhausting_. He had enough to do with his own life, let alone those of others.

"Can you tell me now?"

"Huh?" Lovino's head snapped to Feliciano, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Why were you crying?"

"I wasn't crying."

"Why?"

Lovino sighed sharply. "It doesn't matter. It's not important anymore."

"You were_ crying_. In the _street_. Was it Spain?"

Lovino froze. "Don't say that."

Feliciano looked confused. "What?"

"…him."

"What about him?"

"Don't say his name."

"So he _was_ why!" Feliciano's face brightened at having figured it out. "Did he say something to you?"

"No."

"What did he _do_ then?"

"Why do you _care_?"

Feliciano looked hurt. "I'm your brother."

"I don't want to _tell_ you, okay?"

There was a pause, and then Feliciano nodded. Germany was scowling straight ahead, but he jumped when the young Italian man grabbed his hand. Then his expression softened, and he gave Feliciano a small smile. Man. Lovino chucked to himself. Feli had the guy _whipped_.

A few moments later Kelly returned, a plate of drinks in her hand. She passed them out to the wrong people, still grinning wildly. It was a wonder she didn't have these big badass cheeks from all the muscle she used smiling. That was a creepy thought, and Lovino dismissed it.

It took him a moment to realize that everyone was staring at him. He blinked a few times, looking at them curiously. Kelly's eyes were bright, and it was kind of scary.

"What would you like?"

Oh. He looked down at the menu closed in front of him. He hadn't even bothered to look at anything, so he just pointed at Feliciano. "What he's having."

"Okey dokey! So, it's one ham-and-potato breakfast tray…" figures "…and two spaghettis?" Also figures. "Alright! I'll be out in _just_ a few minutes, so you guys hang tight!"

There was no conversation for a few minutes, so Lovino took to staring out the window again. It was okay to watch other people as long as he wasn't obligated to mingle with them. As person by person walked by, Lovino started to relax. Feliciano and Germany were talking, so hopefully they wouldn't engage him in any kind of conversation soon.

As the figures went by the window, one caught Lovino's eye. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

Green eyes met his own, standing out brightly on the tanned face. Dark, curly hair…oh God. Lovino sank down into the seat as Spain opened the restaurant door and stepped inside. His eyes never left Lovino's, but there was something different about them. Instead of becoming immediately soft and light as they fell upon the Italian man, they remained hard and restrained.

Ignoring the waitresses' attempts to gain his attention, Spain immediately strode over to Lovino's table. Germany and Feliciano were completely oblivious to the situation, but Lovino remained motionless as he stared at the approaching figure. Oh god_damn_ it. He swallowed thickly, wondering briefly why he was even this nervous.

It was the look on Spain's face. It wasn't scary, it wasn't dark, it wasn't anything at all. Blank, that's what it was. Lovino had never, _never_ seen anything but a light smile…or a grin…or some kind of positive expression on Spain's face. Now, completely blank, it scared him. It honestly scared him to death.

"Ve…Spain, what are you doing here?" Feliciano asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Spain didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed Lovino's arm, yanking him out of the seat. The chair was knocked backwards, and Lovino nearly fell over at the surprising force of the pull. He stumbled, and someone else in the restaurant swore. Lovino's eyes widened as he struggled to keep his balance.

One of the waitresses came up and asked Spain to leave, and when Spain didn't answer she said she would call the police.

"We're going," he said sharply, pulling Lovino to the door. Once again the Italian man stumbled, but he didn't say anything. He wasn't sure he could. Feliciano jumped up from his seat, and Germany followed.

"Where are you going?" Germany asked, straightening up and using his full authority. Spain whirled around, the blank look still in place on his face.

"Leave me alone. We need to talk."

Feliciano protested, but by that time Lovino could see the waitress with a phone pressed tight to her ear. A second later Spain had pulled him out onto the street, nearly dragging him out of the building.

The street was considerably less crowded than before, so nobody saw as Spain pulled the young man, who still hadn't gained enough of his bearings to protest, down the sidewalk. Lovino was still in complete shock. The entire event had happened in just a few seconds, and he still couldn't get over the look on Spain's face. The look was still there, but it seemed sharper. Like irritation…or…or grief.

The next thing he knew, Lovino's back was being pressed into a wall, in the alley just next to the restaurant. Spain was staring at him, eyebrows pulled down angrily. He was holding the younger man to the wall by his shoulders, and Lovino barely registered pain as the rough bricks dug into his shoulder blades.

Lovino's mouth opened as if to say something, but he couldn't. Spain's eyes flicked over him, over his entire face, and then…just as suddenly as the blank look had appeared it was gone, replaced by one of regret.

"I'm sorry, Lovi."

"You better be, you bastard."

Lovino was surprised as the words came from his mouth. The malice they held was very thinly veiled, and Spain sighed.

"There are no excuses for my behavior."

"Let go of me."

Lovino's protests went unnoticed, and Spain continued. "France has been taken care of. Nothing he said was true. Okay?"

Lovino paused, trying to figure out what Spain had just said. Did he…he thought… "You really think I fucking_ care_ about fucking _France_?" he asked, completely incredulous.

Spain looked momentarily confused. "Last night he made you upset."

"_Everyone_ makes me upset," Lovino said, eyes widening as he realized that Spain had done all this because…because he'd been crying? That was it?

"No. Not anymore."

There was a pause. "What do you mean?"

Spain's lips curled into a smile. He must have been bipolar or something. Manic-depressive. And here came the manic. He shifted closer to Lovino, keeping him pinned against the wall.

"_Te amo_, Lovi. _Te quiero_."

Lovino was about to protest again when Spain leaned in to his side. He froze as hot breath curled into the shell of his ear.

"And I know you want me."

...

_Be afraid. Be very afraid. _

_Evil Spain is so much fun to write. I promise that a plot will get going soon, too. It's a lovely plot as well, trust me. ;) _

_Sorry if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes, I don't edit. Anything. orz_

_Review, favorite, love, hate...sans the last one :D_


	5. It's True

_Hey! It's been a little while, but not as long as usual. I've been procrastinating, is what I've been doing XD And lots of puzzles. My life revolves around jigsaw puzzles, Hetalia and South Park. It's sad, I know :'(_

_Oh, and I had an anonymous reviewer point something out that I'd like to share. I use a variety of human and country names depending on the main character's relationship with them. (The main character is pretty much the person whose thoughts we hear and the like, even though this isn't in 1st person pov.) Thus, South Italy refers to himself as Lovino, and people like Germany call him Romano. Some people call Spain Spain, others call him Antonio (or 'Antoine', in the case of certain Frenchmen). The more familiar they are with someone, the more they use their human names. Less familiar and they use the country names. I hope this makes sense :P_

_Aaaanyway, here's the next lovely installment of this wonderful (I hope) story, so enjoy! :D_

...

_And I know you want me._

The world seemed to fall into slow motion.

Lovino blinked as Spain's eyes ran over him, and he remained still as the older man brought their faces closer and closer, until they were touching. Lips connected with his, and still he could do nothing. It was as though all of the muscles in his body were useless, and he just stood there, staring blankly at Spain. He couldn't process those words. Did he? Did he want Spain? Or...or what...? What did he want to do? What _could_ he do?

He didn't move as Spain's lips started to work against his own unresponsive ones. He felt deaf and dumb, unable to say anything or do anything, unable to even move an arm, or a hand, or a finger...and it scared him. He could have sworn if someone had dropped something around them, it would fall slowly, and if it cracked then shards would glimmer as they scattered like flecks of molasses into the air.

He took a deep breath through his nose, swallowing thickly as his hands finally decided to respond. They placed themselves on Spain's chest, and mustering all the strength he had he pushed back. At once everything began to move at normal speed, and Spain went stumbling back. Lovino's heart began to race as he looked around. The street was in one direction, and in the other the alley ended in a brick wall. Adrenaline started to rush through him as Spain fell against the opposite wall, looking up at Lovino in surprise.

"Lovino!" he said, starting back for the other man. Lovino flinched, and then he dashed away. Out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk, he turned in the opposite direction of the restaurant. Everything still felt so surreal, but what wasn't surreal was the coursing energy in his body and Spain's light footsteps behind him. Lovino had never been one for running, or for lots of exercise, but football had made him fit enough. Spain, however, was much more so.

There were no words exchanged, just a sudden roaring in Lovino's ears and running. Dashing, sprinting...all he could think about was getting away as quickly as possible, and as far away as his legs would carry him. He paid no attention to anyone else on the street, to anyone yelling at him or Spain. Oh God. What was _happening_? It was too much, far too much for just a day, or even two.

He turned a corner, arms pumping as he tried to move faster. Spain was getting closer, and this just increased the need to get away. Lovino hardly even noticed as Spain started to speak again, until he heard something that was so completely foreign it trumped anything else he'd heard in the past few hours.

"Romano!" Spain yelled, "_Stop_!"

Lovino faltered the moment the name left Spain's lips. Romano. _Romano. Jesus_, no, that was wrong. He could stand being called that by nations who hardly knew him. Feliciano could call him that, if he wanted, because they were family. But Spain...never Spain. That never happened. Never once, never even _once_ in his life had Spain ever called him Romano. The thought hadn't crossed his mind. Until now, apparently.

The little stumble was just enough for Spain to catch him. He felt strong arms encircle his waist, and then he was stopped short. For a moment he tried to get away, struggling as Spain tried to calm him down. He barely noticed that the street they were on was completely empty, or that he was gasping for breath or that he was crying...but was he? He didn't care as he pulled at Spain's arms, wordless but screaming inside.

"Shh, shh, _mi Lovi_..._lo siento...lo siento...mi dispiace..."_ Spain whispered breathlessly into Lovino's ear, a jumbled mix of Italian, Spanish and English coming out. "_No llores, per favore..._I'm sorry..."

Lovino slowly stopped struggling, but he didn't relax. He stayed right at the edge of Spain's grip, and it was only then that he realized that his nose was stinging and tears were making trails down the sides of his face. Dammit, of all the times...of all the _fucking_ times he could decide to cry, it had to be now. He tried once again to break out of Spain's arms, and then he fell limp.

"Lovi..."

"Why?"

Spain sucked in a breath as the word fell from Lovino's mouth. It was strained and almost tortured...like it was the most difficult thing he had ever had to say. Lovino didn't move, and a single tear rolled down the length of his nose to the ground. For a moment Spain didn't say anything, and then his grip on Lovino was gone. The younger man stood there for a second, staring at the ground, before he lifted his head and turned to his former caretaker.

"I..." Spain seemed at a loss for words. The looks he'd had before, of indifference, anger, insanity...they were all gone now, replaced by total regret and shame.

Lovino didn't say anything else, not even bothering to wipe at his eyes, as he watched Spain struggle for something to say. There was an overwhelming..._under_whelming feeling of detachment to the whole situation, to Spain, and to life in general, and he honestly didn't know if he would be able to say anything at all.

"I'm sorry," Spain finally whispered, his eyes locking with Lovino's. He made no move forward, but he did look like he had more to say. Lovino took a shaky breath, swallowing. There was a beat of utter silence, and then Spain spoke again.

"It's who I am."

"No, it's not," Lovino whispered, making hardly a sound. Spain must have heard, or at least he acted as though he had, because his eyebrows furrowed and he sighed.

"All I want is you."

Lovino felt the tears threatening to come back. "Is that right?" he asked, his voice more piercing than intended. Spain nodded.

"I do. I love you. I really do-"

"Or do you want Italy?"

Spain stopped short. "What?"

"Do you want me? Or do you _want_ me?" It wasn't even making any sense in Lovino's head, but he kept talking. It was like he was on autopilot.

"Huh? I don't-"

"Do you want to be with me?" Lovino suddenly burst out, his hands balling into fists. "Or do you want to _own_ me?"

Spain looked deeply confused. "_Be_ with you, of course, but..."

"Then you've been doing a shitty job of showing it."

Lovino was taken aback by his own forcefulness. He took a shaky breath, his hand coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. Then he looked up at Spain, their eyes locking.

"I...just want to protect you," Spain said slowly, like that answer would cure everything.

"Is there a part of 'country' that you don't seem to understand?" Lovino asked angrily, his voice rising. "I don't _need_ protection!"

"I don't want to see you crying..."

"Jesus Christ, then _comfort _me or _leave me alone_ but don't go and fucking _kill_ whatever did it!"

"Please, Lovi...I just..."

"You're right, okay? I want you. I always have!" Lovino yelled, not even caring what he was saying anymore. "But not now. Just give me a few fucking _seconds _to think, okay?"

Spain paused for a moment before responding. "I just don't want you to cry."

"Well, when people stop getting on my _nerves_ that might happen."

Lovino turned, walking down the sidewalk in some indeterminate direction. There was no way in hell he was going back to the meeting now. He didn't hear any footsteps behind him, but he didn't stop. An aching filled his chest, and he swallowed. Glancing back ever so slightly, he saw that Spain was still standing there, watching him go. The ache intensified, and Lovino finally decided to wipe his eyes.

If there was one thing he wanted to do the most at that moment, it was to run back to Spain. To be wrapped in a hug and to accept his apologies and to finally get what he'd wanted for the longest time. What _was_ holding him back, really? Why couldn't he just swallow his pride and go back? So Spain got into a fight. So what?

'_So __what'_ was why he'd done it. _Why _he'd punched France. Why he'd knocked him unconscious, on the floor of a hotel. And why his face always brightened and turned light the moment it met Lovino's. Spain was doing this all for him, and while he should have felt grateful or something it was too much. He needed a few days to think, to get away, and so did Spain. They needed to figure this out on their own before they jumped back into another doomed encounter.

This was how Lovino consoled himself as he walked down the street, unsure of where he was going or why he was going in that direction but unable to stop. He crossed a few streets without looking up at their numbers. It was probably a half hour later when he finally decided to stop. He realized that he'd never actually eaten anything at the restaurant (courtesy of people he was not going to _think_ about...) so he needed to do that. Momentarily he felt a bit of guilt for having left his brother with the check, but that was quickly quelled. He and Feliciano shared an economy, so it was okay. And if the potato bastard had to pay, there was no problem there, either. He took a deep breath.

Just food. Just get food and go...do something. Don't think about anything. Autopilot. There's nothing for you to think about. Relax. _Relax_. He repeated this mantra in his head as he walked back up the sidewalk, looking around for a suitable place to eat. If there was one thing New York was not lacking in, it was eateries. After a few minutes of looking, however, Lovino decided that he wasn't hungry, and that all he really wanted to do was go sit somewhere for a long time.

So, without looking back once, he started back up toward the hotel, and the benches he knew were in the courtyard there.

…

Feliciano held Germany's hand as they walked back into the meeting room. After Spain's dramatic exit with Romano in tow the restaurant had quieted down considerably, although the incident was far from forgotten. Feliciano was understandably worried, but Germany didn't let it bother him. It was all very petty as far as he was concerned. The two Mediterranean nations were taking it a bit far, in his opinion.

There were a few minutes left until the meeting began again, and Germany tried to make them as quiet as possible. He'd had stressful enough of a day, what with the argument that had ensued over productivity and organization of resources earlier in the meeting, so he didn't want any more drama in the day. Simple and clean was how he liked his life, and normally that was how it was (save for Feliciano, but that was an exception.)

"_Germaniaaa_…" Feliciano cooed, catching Germany's hand again. Germany sighed, a small smile finding his lips. He and the young Italian man had what you could call a relationship, if you really looked at it. It wasn't exactly _official_ or anything, and many were under the impression that it was just Feliciano's very affectionate nature, but Germany knew it wasn't really that. He'd never considered himself in any sexual terms, let alone homosexual ones. It was just something that never crossed his mind in his day-to-day life. Feliciano, however, was on track to change that…

"What is it?"

"Where do you think Spain took Lovi?"

For the past half an hour Feliciano could only ask about his older brother and Spain. Granted, it had been a very odd occurrence, knowing how Spain had his two personalities. One never appeared in a situation that required the other…until now, of course. Everyone who had been in the same room as Spain and Romano knew about the two selves that Spain fell into.

One was his usual demeanor. It was course and callous, unless he happened to be with France or Prussia. It was darker, and it was the Spain who had enacted the Inquisition and the conquering of the Americas. It was the Spain most people saw if they knew him for business. It was not mean, not cruel…just strict and unforgiving. Kind at times, but generally emotionless.

Then there was Romano's Spain. That was the happy-go-lucky, giggly, loving Spain that only came around when Romano was in the room. Or, scratch that, even when Romano came up in _conversation_. It was the Spain you heard about, the one who laughed and told jokes and threw parties. That Spain would occasionally come about when he was drinking, but when he was around the young Italian man it was much more intense. He couldn't stop smiling, his eyes became soft and warm, and he seemed impervious to Romano's cold jabs or sarcasm.

And then just before, in the restaurant, something unheard of had happened. The real Spain had come around and shown its dark face in the presence of Romano. The results, as Germany had seen, were quite disastrous. At least the Italian was quiet for once. Speechless, more like it.

Germany's thoughts were cut short as he saw the first of the others start to trickle into the meeting hall. Surprisingly, one of the first to arrive was America, followed closely by an angry-looking England. Of course, seldom was there a time when he _wasn't _angry. A few moments after them, Sealand came skipping in, although he wasn't really supposed to be there in the first place. Finland and Sweden came in together, the former looking exasperatedly at Sealand's retreating figure. There was a longer pause this time, and then Switzerland and Liechtenstein entered.

Germany turned his attention from the doorway to the presentation he had to set up for Greece. Judging by how often the other man was asleep, he was almost sure to be late or only half-awake when he had to get his things together, so Germany setting them up beforehand was the most logical choice. Anyway, Germany was used to this. He did work for himself and others, and that's just how it was.

"Germany?"

He turned to see Feliciano looking at him expectantly. "_Ja_?"

"Can we watch movies in your room again tonight?"

Germany sighed. "Maybe. You'll have to find one, though."

"I already have!"

Germany paused. "What is it?"

"_The Notebook_."

Before Germany had the chance to respond, his attention was diverted to some yelling going on just outside the meeting room. He raised his eyebrows as China came stumbling in, South Korea firmly attached to his back. He had obviously been trying to shake the other man off, judging by his extra-loose ponytail and messed-up clothing. Now, however, he had resigned himself to the fact that the Korean man was going to cling to him, groping his chest wildly.

Feliciano made a happy noise. "That's cute!" he exclaimed.

"Korea!" Germany yelled, and the young man sprung off of China as fast as possible. North Korea, who was stalking in (surrounded by guards, of course) grunted in irritation, but he didn't say anything. It was really a miracle he'd come to the meeting at all, and the last thing Germany wanted to do was alienate him.

It only took a few minutes for nearly everyone to enter. During meetings the nations were really quite punctual, often so much so that it surprised Germany. As chatter quieted down and they took their seats, however, it hit him just _who_ was missing.

"Germany, where are _fratello _and Spain?"

Germany looked around. "I don't know."

"Oh," Feliciano sighed pointedly, taking a seat next to where Germany was standing at the head of the long table. "I hope they're okay."

"They are," Germany said, more to appease Feliciano than anything. The smaller man's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything else. After a few moments, the tall blond man rested his hands on the front of the table, looking around.

"Okay, everyone!" he yelled. The room started to quiet down and he began the meeting. Feliciano still looked concerned, but as the meeting commenced he calmed down and tried to focus.

"So, our first presentation is from Greece…" Germany trailed off as he scanned the seats for the man in question. There was no sign of him.

"He fell asleep outside!" someone piped up. Germany sighed.

"Then I guess…we'll go on without him," Germany said. "The next presentation on the list is…oh dear."

"Oh yeah!"

America came bounding up, a grin on his face. He shoved Germany out of the way, placing his own presentation up in front of Greece's. As usual, instead of any charts or maps, there were only cartoon-like illustrations of people and superheroes.

Germany begrudgingly took a seat next to Feliciano, whose eyes were glued to the board America was now gesturing at wildly. The Italian man didn't move his eyes from the presentation, but his hand still found Germany's somehow, prompting a small smile. America was just launching into a wild description of the 'awesome new planes' he was 'totally making right now.'

There was a moment of complete normalcy before the gunshot was heard.

The sound ricocheted around the room and down the street before being sucked up by the buildings and noise of the city. It echoed longer in the meeting room, and all was silent for a split second.

In the next instant, footsteps came dashing down the hallway, boots pounding on linoleum. Greece caught himself awkwardly on the doorway, out of breath. His eyes were wide, and everyone immediately assumed the worst. He swallowed thickly, clearly unused to the activity so soon after a nap.

"Spain…" –he looked back worriedly, still catching his breath— "…shot France."

And there was chaos.

…

Lovino sighed, walking slowly up the street. The hotel would be just up the next block, and it was going to be awkward if anyone was outside, but as long as it wasn't Spain he'd be okay. The incident by the restaurant was still clear in his mind, however hard he had been trying to push it away. Damn Spain. Why did he have to be such an idiot?

He had also been going over what he would do the next time he saw the other man. What he would say, how he would act. The meeting after the fight was the most important, wasn't it? Either way, he needed to be careful. It was a delicate situation, though it was brought on by no fault of his own, of course…

None of these thoughts prepared him for what he saw as he turned, facing the hotel courtyard. Not a single one prepared him for the ambulance, or the police cars, or the group of nations standing just outside the door watching it all unfold. Nothing prepared him to see, as he inched closer, France's body on the stretcher being pushed into the back of the red and white truck.

In an instant he knew what had happened. He didn't know how he knew, and he certainly didn't want to believe it, but it was the only explanation.

Spain.

He came up onto the scene, looking around. This day, he thought bitterly, couldn't _possibly_ get worse, could it? It was confusing again, though, as he realized that the emptiness inside was back. He was entirely done with crying, or freaking out, or being emotional at all. He looked away as a hand closed on his arm, and he jumped.

"_Fratello!_" Feliciano cried, pulling his brother into a tight hug. Lovino blinked, staring at the ground just beyond Feliciano's body. Then, accompanied by a small sigh, his hands found his younger sibling's back and completed the embrace.

Then he was beckoned over to where everyone else was standing, staring on at the scene. The whole group held a somber tone, and everyone was completely silent. That is, until Feliciano decided to speak up.

"We don't know what happened, but Spain—"

"I know."

Feliciano stopped. "You do?"

"Yeah." He sighed deeply.

"You saw it?"

"No. It was about me," Lovino said quietly, looking away from the whole scene. He affixed his eyes to a distant building, wishing for a moment that he were anywhere else.

"Ve…I don't understand."

"We got into a fight."

"But how—"

"I just _know_, okay? Where is he?"

"He disappeared," Feliciano said, looking mournfully up at his brother. "We don't know."

Lovino felt a twist in his stomach. "He'll come back."

"He's dangerous," Germany said, his voice flat.

"He could have shot _you_," England added, thick eyebrows furrowing.

Lovino froze. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. It wouldn't have been surprising, though. Nothing Spain did could surprise him anymore, not after today.

"_Fratello_," Feliciano began, eyes wide. "What if he _shot_ you?"

Lovino felt a thickness build up in his chest. "He wouldn't do that…" he said almost silently, his eyes meeting Feliciano's. To his shock he found them watering again. No, dammit. How many times could he cry in one day? "Fuck this!" he suddenly burst out.

Feliciano flinched, looking more worried than before. "Are you okay?"

Lovino looked at his brother incredulously. "Oh _sure_ I am!" he screamed, the tears building. "I just got into a huge fucking _fight_ with Spain, and when I come back he _shot_ someone and ran off! I'm just PEACHY!"

With that he pushed through the group, storming across the plaza. He shoved the doors to the hotel open, stomping into the lobby. There was a policeman talking with the man at the desk, but Lovino didn't care. His steps turned into jogging, which turned into a flat-out run as he skipped the elevator, running up the stairs. He sniffled heavily, trying as hard as physically possible to hold back the tears.

Goddamn Spain. Goddamn meeting. Goddamn everything. The world could go fuck itself, and all he'd be able to do was cry at it. He was so weak; he couldn't even stand up to Spain. All he did was run away and…and then this happened. _Think things over_, what the hell had he been trying to do? Spain didn't just go home and _mull_ over stuff. He fucking_ shot _people.

He reached his hotel room, almost unaware that he'd been down the hallway at all. Before he knew it he was inside. It took him only a moment to gather all his things together in the suitcase, shoving them into the cloth case with abandon. The tears were flowing freely now, and he couldn't control it anymore. If Spain just _knew_ what he did to Lovino. But he was such a fucking idiot…and Lovino wasn't sure which 'he' he meant.

As he was starting to leave, his eyes blearily caught the magazine still open on the bed. Wiping at his face unceremoniously, his fingers closed around the booklet, closing into a fist. He made a small noise as he ripped the magazine in half along the binding, chucking it at the window.

Then he left the hotel room, leaving the key card on the bedside table. He wouldn't be coming back.

...

_I love you all :D _

_Spain, however, does not._

_Review, favorite, feedback of any kind plz :D I LIVE off of it. (And write faster.)_


	6. The Hunt Begins

_Okay, so for this chapter I apologize in advance. I really do. I know I try my hardest not to write anything remotely resembling a filler chapter...but...but I just don't know. :( I hope this isn't too filler-ish (even though it kinda is...). Whatever. _

_Thanks to everyone who reviewed :D and favorited or alerted or anything else! I love you guys X3_

_Aaaaand, I have other news. I'll be going on a vacation (Italy! Whoop!) for two weeks and may or may not have any way to write or post any more chapters for that time. It won't be forever, but I'm leaving tomorrow and it'll be a while. Just a warning, in advance. _

_Now I have rambled enough, and here is the chapter._

...

Waking up in the morning to a cheap motel ceiling was not on Lovino's to-do list. Waking up on a stiff, uncomfortable bed with springs sticking into the small of his back was also not on that list. The vague smell of mold and a water stain in the corner was not nice either. To top it all off, however, were the memories of the day before. They rushed into Lovino's mind in almost an instant, and he realized his predicament. He also realized how much of an idiot he was.

"Goddammit," he whispered, sitting up in the bed. The last few hours of the night before were pretty much a blur of running and then, it appeared, checking into a hotel. His suitcase was sitting unopened on the floor, and he realized that he'd slept in his clothes from the day before. It wasn't like he had much of a presence of mind to care, however.

So much had happened in the past day, and it was almost too much for his mind to handle. He swallowed thickly, standing. The only real furniture in the room was the bed, but there was a hint of a nightstand and a lamp in the corner as well. This place was definitely not his first choice to stay, but he wasn't exactly loaded at the moment and without the free room offered by the hotel for the meeting there wasn't much else he could do. It was good enough for the time being, he decided as he changed. The carpet was too thick and kind of sick-looking, and he swore he saw a suspiciously blood-like stain by the bed, but it had been a place to sleep, and judging by the time on his watch he had definitely slept a while.

It was after he had gotten dressed and was ready to check out that he realized he had nothing to do. The meeting was going to continue one more day, but after the events that had transpired earlier everyone may have just decided to go home. Not caring much either way, Lovino figured he could just go back to Italy and work things out with himself before…before what? Going to find Spain? Spain was dangerous.

He'd never put those words together before. Spain being dangerous was…it was never a thought that had crossed his mind before this meeting. It wasn't something that had even been an option. And now the goddamn bastard had to go and be all fucking vigilante action hero and go missing. Lovino could feel himself getting worked up. It really wasn't possible for anyone to be more stupid and impossible than Spain, was it?

"_God_ I hate the world," he said out loud, once again just liking being able to say stuff like that. Being completely alone was one of the few pleasures in life, and it was just one of the things he did. "The whole fucking world!" Call it a quirk.

"_Whoop-dee-fuckin-do!_" he heard through the wall. Oh. So maybe not so alone.

"Fuck off!" he yelled back, and it was met by laughing. He held up his middle finger.

It was decided, he was leaving now. He snatched up his suitcase, carrying it at his side as he left the room and started down the hallway to the front desk. It was just built into the hallway wall, so he didn't have to go out of his way. There was something vaguely admirable about how streamlined these little, dingy places were, as opposed to the over-complication of high-concept places. That was being too fucking philosophical about stupid _motels_, though, and he decided to stop thinking about it.

The man behind the counter was sitting on a stool, a newspaper propped up on his lap. He didn't look as disgusting as the rest of this place looked, though, so Lovino didn't feel too awkward talking to him.

"I'm leaving," he said simply as he reached the man. The guy looked up, eyebrows raised. Then he sighed, folding up the newspaper and setting it to the side.

"Mmkay. Fifty bucks." Lovino immediately liked the man; he was blunt and simple. That was more than you could say for most people. And shit, no wonder this place was so crappy, judging by the price.

Lovino pulled out the bills, mostly in ones and fives, setting them on the counter. As the guy counted them, he started up some small talk.

"You foreign?"

"Mmhmm."

"What you doing 'round here?"

"Getting the hell out."

"If only," the guy said, tapping the bills on the counter and putting them in a locked box. "Well, good luck."

"I'm gonna fucking need it," Lovino said as he walked out the door. The guy grunted, picking up his newspaper again.

That was how Lovino liked his human contact. Quick, easy, to-the-point, no dancing around whatever you wanted to say. Not like Spain. He was way too complicated, and half the time he didn't even know what the hell he was saying. Bastard.

Lovino was now on the street, and he had no idea where to go. He had the plane tickets somewhere in his suitcase for the trip back, but they wouldn't be valid for another day. He was at a complete loss for what to do, so he decided to walk around. Maybe…maybe he'd run into someone and talk. It was completely impossible, but he was really desperate for some contact that _wasn't_ depressing as hell. (But not really. Oh, go fuck yourself.) He wandered down the sidewalk, mostly just wanting to get out of this part of town as fast as possible.

Ah, futility. Before he'd gotten ten yards toward the safer, more commercial road up ahead, he was joined. The man had a crummy old sweatshirt and sweatpants that were way too big for him, and he was wearing a fleece hat that covered his ears. Lovino originally intended to ignore him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as the man followed him down the street. He quickened his footsteps, discreetly, of course, and felt a little twinge of annoyance as the man started to walk faster as well.

Lovino didn't look over his shoulder. He really didn't fucking _care_ what the guy who was probably going to try and mug him looked like. Unless he was going to go tell the cops or something. But this was New York, he was in a part of the city he shouldn't really be in, and he was wearing nice clothes. They were nothing like the suit of the day before, but they weren't exactly crappy.

"Hey, buddy," the guy said, kind of quietly. Lovino didn't say anything. There was a pause. "Hey!"

Lovino sighed, keeping his eyes locked on the road ahead of him. Just a little bit farther and he'd be on a street with more people, safety. There were a few upsides to crowds, like the anonymity and the fact that most of the time nobody tried to beat the shit out of you. Never mind how annoying people were, being around a lot of them who couldn't care less was better than being around one who did.

"C'mon!" the guy said, fairly loudly. Lovino swallowed, continuing ahead. He heard the footsteps behind him speed up, and he knew the guy was right behind him. Then he felt a hand grab his shoulder and jerk him back.

Lovino was turned face-to-face with the man. He blinked once before an idea came to him. It was time to initiate plan 'I'm-really-fucking-foreign-and-don't-understand-English-and-now-you-made-me-pissed-off,-asshole.'

He immediately started yelling, his voice rising as he cursed the man to hell and back in rapid Italian. His free arm started to jerk around, accenting each word. The man stepped back as Lovino got louder. "_You fucking bastard! Get the hell out of my face before I fucking kick it in for you! Hell, that would be a fucking _improvement_ on your sad, disgusting_ _existence, you piece of shit! Go suck your own cock, God knows that's all _you _get!"_ He continued on in this manner for a bit longer before whirling around huffily and storming back up toward the road.

"Crazy fucker!" Lovino had only a second to react before his feet were kicked out from under him.

He grunted as he fell to the ground, dropping the suitcase in an attempt to catch himself. Pain shot through his hands and forearms as he landed heavily on them, and before he could gain his bearings a foot collided with his side. He rolled onto the street, coughing as the pain blossomed in his rib cage. Jesus Christ, this was a fun week.

"Pete!" he heard another voice yelling, and he looked up to see another guy running down the sidewalk. He got up shakily, his side still burning. Clutching it with a bruised hand he snatched up his suitcase and started to run away. The two guys started after him, the first one yelling.

"Come back here, you Spanish fucker!"

Lovino considered bitching them out for calling him _Spanish_, but his side hurt like hell and he just wanted to go and actually _relax_ for two seconds. Or at least get away from these guys, who were clearly either drunk or poor as dirt. His goddamn suitcase was too heavy, though, and the punks caught up to him in just a few seconds.

One grabbed his shirt and yanked back, nearly choking him. The second kicked in his knee, making him fall to the ground again. Now everything hurt, but the adrenaline was really starting to do its work and Lovino hopped back up as fast as possible. He whirled around, his knuckles connecting with the shoulder of one. As he did a fist collided with the side of his face, and the pain shot through his head and down his neck.

He stumbled, his foot coming up to kick at whatever he could. Another swing came at him and he ducked, letting it fly over his head. Then he launched himself at the first man, Pete, knocking him hard onto the sidewalk. The man started yelling various profanities as Lovino slammed his elbow into the guy's stomach. In a second, though, the second guy was pulling Lovino off, throwing him down. He got back up again, trying to get the other man's feet out from under him. He nearly succeeded.

Another fist, or maybe a foot, hit his stomach and he was down for good. He clutched his torso, curling up as another foot hit his lower back. Constant kicks battered his body, anywhere they could reach, and he felt a hand come down to pull at his collar, flipping him onto his back. He was screaming something, anything, at the two guys, in Italian and English and some garbled gibberish he was barely aware of. The kicks continued, and all Lovino could register was the sharp pain filling his entire body.

Then a shoe hit into the back of his head and the world fell into darkness for a few terrifying seconds. Vaguely he heard the thuds of footsteps as they ran down the street, but it was like they were an echo and not really there at all. He stayed on the ground, concentrating on making sure he could still breathe. If there was any way to add any more insult to injury on an already shitty week, this was it.

After a few moments he sat up, wincing as he tried to take a deep breath. If he had a fucking cracked rib after this…bitches were gonna get it. His mafia days were over, and he needed to get back on that whole fighting thing. Dammit. His entire body hurt like a bitch, and he crawled across the sidewalk, surprised to find his suitcase still sitting there, unopened. So he got beaten up for no reason, huh? Well _shit_.

He shakily stood up, swallowing thickly. Lovino then picked up his suitcase and started back up toward the road. If he were human he'd probably need to go to the hospital, but as a country everything would probably be healed in just a few hours. It was one of the few upsides.

There was suddenly a buzzing in his suitcase. He blinked, staring at it blankly before realizing it was his phone. He retrieved it, but not before making sure he was safely on the main street. Carefully he flipped it open, gingerly putting it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"_Fratello!_"

Oh God. "_You have to come back! _Rapidamente!"

Lovino leaned against a building, gasping as a dull, throbbing pain erupted on his back. "_Perché?_"

"_Are you okay?"_

"I'm fine. Why do I have to go back?"

"_England and America declared war on Spain, and I neeeed youuu!_"

Declarations of war were serious business. "Why the hell would they do that?"

"_They said that shooting someone was 'immature and he needs to be taught a lesson.'"_ Feliciano tried mimicking England's accent as he said the last bit. Lovino swallowed.

"Stop them."

"_I can't do that alone!_"

"France'll be fine in a few days. They're fucking overreacting."

"_Ve, I know! But they're too big and scary!"_

"Jesus. Just…just wait. I'll be there."

"_Are you going to cry again?"_

"Fuck you," Lovino mumbled. He was done crying. He'd had enough of that, and anyway the past few days had been a fluke. He was never that emotional. It was all just fucking Spain's fault. Dammit. "Just don't screw anything up before I get there."

"_Okay!_"

Lovino said goodbye (and then, because it was Feliciano, a grudging "love you, too") and closed the phone. He tossed it back in the suitcase and sighed. The bruises all over his body were starting to ache, but he did his best to ignore them. Damn punk bastards would get it later.

…

"Lovino!"

As Lovino approached the hotel (the goddamn hotel), Feliciano came dashing up to him. He paused as Feliciano threw his arms around his older brother, and immediately he groaned. How did the kid manage to hit _every single fucking bruise_?

"Ow…yeah…hi…" Lovino pushed Feliciano away.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Feliciano didn't seem convinced. He lifted up the edge of Lovino's shirt, peeking at his stomach. This was all much to Lovino's distress, and he tried to push his brother away.

"You have bruises! Was it Spain?"

"No!" Lovino said, maybe a bit too loudly. He paused. "It was just two kids."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking _sure_."

"Oh. I can get you some ice!"

"What about the whole war thing?"

"Oh yeah!"

Lovino shook his head in exasperation as Feliciano grabbed his wrist and pulled Lovino into the building. Immediately he heard lots of shouting. It was all coming from the meeting room. Lovino suddenly wished he wasn't there. Back home would be the best place, instead of facing this.

As they entered, they saw England and Canada yelling at each other, as America was arguing with someone else…Portugal. Lovino looked around, sighing sharply. Now was probably about the time he should make an entrance.

"Hey!" he yelled, but nobody seemed to notice. He cleared his throat. "Everyone! Listen to me, goddammit!"

Everyone glanced over to him, surprised to see him there. Not all of the countries were there, and Lovino figured they'd decided to stay neutral on this whole thing. That was something he didn't figure he'd have the luxury of doing.

"Finally!" England threw his arms up into the air, striding over to Lovino. "You're joining us."

"Hell no."

"_You_, of all people, know how dangerous Spain can be! It's only a little longer before he starts the war himself!"

"He'll be fine, okay? Just don't be a fucking asshole!"

"Then _you_ can go talk to him."

"Artie! We need to get ready!"

England held up a hand to silence America as he came bounding over.

"I can do that."

Shit. What the hell was Lovino even offering? First of all, he had no idea where Spain was. Second, Spain just shot someone and was probably going crazy. Third…well, he just got beaten up. He wasn't exactly pining for that to happen again. Either way, England continued.

"Seriously. He's a criminal now."

"Aren't we all?" Greece mused from somewhere at the table.

"I can talk to him. He'll listen to me," Lovino said, suddenly turning very serious. England raised a thick eyebrow.

"I doubt it."

"What the hell do you know?" Lovino asked, trying to sound indignant. Inside, however, he was feeling kind of sick. "I'll fucking do it."

"Dude, Spain's gonna _kill_ you," America interjected helpfully.

"Shut up. He fucking shot France to _protect_ me. He wouldn't touch me."

"That's some deep stuff," America said, clearly just as skeptical as England.

"If I talk to him there's no war, got it?"

"Awww…" America said quietly, looking really put out.

"We'll still be preparing," England said determinedly. "This behavior is unacceptable."

"You go do that."

"You have a week."

Lovino groaned. "Jesus, this isn't a fucking movie. Chill. Since when do _you_ care about France so much?"

"I'm being lenient. It shouldn't take you a week to talk."

"Lenient? God, in that case, I got some late homework to turn in too. Don't give me _detention_." Lovino rolled his eyes.

England sighed sharply. "This isn't the time for games."

"This isn't the time to get all butthurt."

"I can't deal with you!" England whirled around, slamming his hands into the table. "A week."

"Fine. What-the-fuck-ever."

Lovino turned, leaving the meeting room. England was a dick. Feliciano followed, looking very worried. Lovino was just pissed off now. And, for some reason, it was the most normal thing that had happened in a long time. He gritted his teeth, leaving the damn hotel again. So he'd just promised to go talk to Spain and…and tell him what? Get him to come back? Make him apologize? Lovino realized with annoyance that he had no idea what he was expected to do.

"Where's Spain?" Feliciano asked.

"Hell if I know."

"How are you going to find him?"

"No clue."

"What are you going to say?"

"Dunno."

"What if—"

"Look!" Lovino cut Feliciano off. "I don't fucking _know_, okay?"

Feliciano stayed quiet for a moment. Then Lovino stopped, sighing.

"I can do this on my own."

"But…"

"You _know_ you don't want to come."

"Well…"

Lovino didn't even bother to let Feliciano answer before he pulled the plane tickets out of a pocket of his suitcase and then thrust the rest into his brother's arms. "Take this and just…go do something with it."

"Where are you going?"

"Finding Spain." Lovino paused for a moment before adding: "Duh."

Feliciano watched him for a second before nodding and smiling. Then he leaned forward to kiss both of Lovino's cheeks, grinning even wider. "_Buona fortuna_."

There was another pause. "_Grazie_."

Then Lovino turned and left the plaza. For the first time in a few days he had a goal and something to do, and it felt good. He was still scowling, as usual, but inside he felt a bit more hopeful. So he had a week to find someone and then convince them not to be crazy. Easy enough, right?

It was with this far more positive outlook that Lovino decided to eat something for breakfast.

…

For some reason Lovino had found himself drawn to the restaurant where…well, you know where. It was the same one where he and Feliciano had almost eaten with the potato bastard, and he told himself that he just wanted to see what the food tasted like. As he walked in, though, he saw that it was very different inside than he'd imagined. Instead of being packed wall-to-wall, the place was almost deserted. Then again, it was an awkward time to go for a meal on a weekday.

A waitress who looked very familiar came up to him. "Hel_lo_, sir! Just one?"

Lovino nodded and was led to a table. It was just for two people, but he would be eating alone. The waitress was _far_ too chipper, and he swore he knew her name…

"I'm Kelly! I'll be your server for today! Would you like anything to drink?" She was smiling very widely, and Lovino remembered thinking something about badass cheek muscles...

"Um…just water."

"Okay! I'll be back in just a minute!"

She was just as hyper as before. Lovino looked around, actually seeing the décor for the first time. It was kind of dull and brown, and very uninteresting. There were only a few other people inside, eating silently, though, so it was kind of peaceful.

In just a moment Kelly returned, carrying a single glass of water. Lovino realized for the first time that there was, in fact, a menu in front of him. He opened it just as she set the water on the table.

"Here you go!" Then she paused for a moment. Lovino looked up at her, eyebrows raised. Then she snapped her fingers.

"_You're_ the guy who got dragged out yesterday!" She seemed really pleased with herself for having figured it out.

"Shit, really? I didn't notice." Lovino couldn't help it.

"Yeah!" Lovino felt the sudden urge to slam his hand into his forehead. Kelly sat down across from him, still looking excited. "What happened?"

"…are you supposed to be doing this?"

Kelly grinned. "What happened?"

Jesus. She was just like Feliciano. Lovino sighed, closing his eyes. At least he knew how to deal with her.

"Just a fight. That's it."

Kelly's smile turned kind of lewd. "A _lover's_ quarrel?"

"Fuck off," Lovino said, as close to an answer as he decided he'd get. "Are you gonna take my order or not?"

Kelly didn't move. "It's okay, you know." She seemed far too excited. "That's so cute!"

"Look, if I'm in the market for a fag hag I'll call you, but now I'm really fucking hungry."

"Did you make up?"

"No," Lovino said simply. Then, for his own satisfaction, he added, "Unless shooting someone counts as making up."

Kelly's eyebrows shot up. "Are you in the mafia?"

God, she was a ditz. "Yeah. Totally."

Kelly suddenly rolled her eyes, and the grin was dropped. "Look, no matter how much I act like one, I'm not an idiot."

Lovino blinked. "Right."

"So, what's up with Spain?"

Lovino froze. Wait...wait...what? He didn't say anything for a long time.

"How do…" he trailed off, not even sure how to phrase the question without sounding stupid.

"I heard he shot Francis, but why would he do that?"

Lovino still couldn't speak, as Kelly started going on and on about how Spain could do such a thing, and then how happy she was that she'd actually managed to talk to _actual nations_ and eventually she stopped making any sense at all. Lovino swallowed.

"How do you know about…the whole…country...thing…?"

"Oh my God!" she suddenly yelled. "I'm being so rude!"

And suddenly she had an English accent.

Lovino was now so far beyond confused he had swung all the way back around into understanding. So obviously Kelly was a nation, or someone who knew about them and had connections…or something.

"I was just so excited to actually meet some of you!" she exclaimed, grinning. It was very apparent that she was from somewhere in the UK now, and it made no sense.

"Who the hell _are_ you?"

She grinned and puffed up, as though she'd practiced this before. Then, with what others would have considered an award-winning smile, she spoke.

"I am…" she paused for effect, "…the Kingdom of _Lovely_!" she said happily, flashing thumbs up. Lovino blinked. "Isn't it cool? Now, I think we have to go find Spain, right?"

Lovino wasn't sure he'd ever been more confused in his life.

...

_I...I just couldn't resist XD _

_The Kingdom of Lovely is an internet-based micronation created by a guy named Danny Wallace, a British author (he's the one who wrote the whole Yes Man book that the movie was based off of). It had a lot of citizens and stuff, and I personally love the idea and think that making an internet nation would be cool. I also think that they need Hetalia characters XD Actually, I just kind of wanted to make Kelly a semi-country, because I like her, and it was the first thing that came to mind. You can look it up. _

_Please review, favorite, alert...anything. I BEG OF YOU. (and I have cookies.)_


	7. To No Avail

_Hellooo! I somehow managed to obtain the lovely internets while on vacation, so I have a chance to post this next chapter! Woohoo! Yeah! ...yeah. _

_I apologize greatly if this chapter is boring, which it probably is. I was writing and when I reached about 4000 words I looked it over and all it was was Lovino and Kelly talking :( But I couldn't bring myself to cut any of it so here we go..._

_ANYWAY! Spain will be in the next chapter, so just you wait! Get excited! _

_And enjoy ;)_

...

When Lovino left the restaurant, Kelly in tow, he could have been very honest. He could have just said that he had absolutely no idea where they were going, why they were going or how they were going to get there. He could have made the entire journey easier. Instead, however, he made the mistake of saying that of _course_ he knew where Spain was, and that they could head over there immediately. In fact, he had even _called_ Spain, and had learned that it was all just a misunderstanding and yada yada yada…

Luckily, she realized that what he was saying was ridiculous (especially as it got to the part where Lovino had talked with Spain over some wine at dinner and they had made plans for a vacation, and he was living in the condo they rented) and told him off. The downside…well…Kelly was a screamer. And Lovino didn't mean in bed.

"What, so you think that you could just lie to me? _I _happen to have morals! What would you have done after that, huh? We need some kind of lead if we're going to do this at all, and your little jokes don't work!"

"Jesus, calm the hell down."

"I don't understand how you can manage a country, with an attitude like that! Lies get you nowhere! King _Danny_ would never do anything like that, you know! He has willpower! He said 'yes' to everything for a year straight, and I don't think _you_ could do that! I can't believe you were trying to pull something like that on me! Is it because I don't have any _land_? Is that it? The internet is good enough, I tell you!"

Lovino started to look around for a wall to bang his head into. Frankly, he wasn't sure if Kelly even knew what she was saying anymore, just yelling and yelling and yelling…it was like she was just as hyper as before but now she was directing it to being fucking _pissed off_ over absolutely nothing. And it was annoying as _hell_.

"Can you shut up for two seconds?"

Kelly huffed, crossing her arms, but Lovino could see there was no real malice or anger in the gesture. She was probably just really, really bored and excited out of her mind, and she needed some kind of outlet for it. Better yelling than shooting someone, right? (What? Was it too early to make a joke?)

Thankfully, Kelly stayed quiet and they started down the sidewalk once more. Lovino had no destination in mind, except for maybe Spain or Italy. But it would take at least a day to get to each…and since he only had a week…

This was all so stupid. So England had to make this all like an action movie and set a time limit? Why? What sense did that make, at all? Exactly none, that's how much. And how in the name of _everything holy_ was he supposed to find the one person in the whole world who would be doing his best to stay away from everyone? He had absolutely no idea where to begin.

Kelly was keeping a far more positive attitude. After having seemingly forgotten the yelling she'd been doing before, she was giving lots of words of encouragement and she sounded far too hopeful for her own good.

"He shouldn't be too hard to find! We can do this, no problem! You just watch!"

Nothing could be said simply with her. Every piece of information she had to relay had to be said in sentence after sentence, always just reiterating everything she'd said previously. Good for preschoolers, very (very very _very_ fucking) bad for people like Lovino, who got pissed at everything.

"I'll be watching," he grumbled, finding his previous confusion gone and great dissatisfaction with the situation returning. "Look, you didn't get me any food and I'm still fucking hungry. I'm going to eat, come if you want."

There was a long pause where Kelly didn't say anything, and then a look of horror came over her face. "Oh my God!"

Lovino made a small noise of annoyance. "What _now?_"

"I completely left my shift! The manager is going to be _so _angry, and he might fire me! I was already on pretty bad terms…I don't know…maybe it'll be okay but I just don't know! We need to go back!"

"You won't die."

"But it's really _really_ important! I need this job so I can keep the website up! I have a website, isn't it cool? But I _really need that job_!"

"Calm the fuck down."

"Oh! And it's a restaurant, so you can eat!"

This was an uphill battle, and Lovino just sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Go ahead."

"Can you come with me? It's dangerous to walk alone."

Lovino looked over Kelly's shoulder and down the street, where the restaurant sign was still in perfect view. "Fuck, it's right over there!"

"Pleeeease?"

So, forsaking any progress they could have made, they turned around and waltzed back to the restaurant so Kelly could tell her boss that they were going to be walking around town. As it turned out her shift had ended about an hour before, and the manager (a nice man named something horribly generic, like Mr. Johnson or something) was wondering when exactly Kelly had been planning on leaving. Lovino scowled at her as they left, and Kelly was frantically trying to explain to him about extra hours and more money.

"I get the idea," he said, trying to stop the conversation there. God, he was tired of talking already. Couldn't she just leave him alone? Sure, it was nice to have some company for a while, but not for the entire search if that's what was going to happen. He wasn't sure he could take another hour of this, let alone a week.

But no! Jesus, it wasn't going to take the whole week. He'd find Spain, no problem. Even if he had to deal with Kelly along the way he'd fucking _get it done_. That was how he worked. That was how Italians worked. Just do it or…or go sleep or get some gelato or something…but that was beside the point. He said he would find Spain and he would, somehow or other. Anyway, he had other business to talk to Spain about.

"So, how are we going to do this? Are we going to split up? Search together? Where would he be? Do you have a picture so I can tell what he looks like?"

"You don't know what he _looks like_?"

"Well…kind of. But I've never seen him in person or in real life. I've seen his picture on a placard at an international meeting, though! I was working there, because _El Greco_—" Lovino had to assume this was the name of the restaurant; he hadn't really been paying attention "—does catering and I had to set up the tables and everything and I was _so excited_ but I had to work in the kitchen for the rest." Here she made an honest-to-god frowny face. "I think I saw Greece leaving the bathroom, though!" And back came the grin.

"Congratulations."

"I _know_, right?"

Lovino sighed. "Look, Kelly…" She blinked at him. "If you're gonna help me you need to shut up."

For a moment she didn't say anything. Then her face fell. "I'm annoying, aren't I?"

Lovino nodded.

"Oh." She sighed. "Yeah, I know."

"Good. So stop it."

They walked for a bit more, in complete silence. Well, not complete silence, because every few feet Kelly sighed loudly, like she was really trying to get him to hear it. Lovino's hand came up to his temple. He suddenly found himself even more uncomfortable when Kelly was sad. It wasn't like he regretted his bluntness (because she _was_ annoying) but _man_ did she change moods fast. Any more of this and he was going to get whiplash.

Then Kelly spoke. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"But I know I need to stop."

"Yeah, well, cheer the fuck back up."

"Why?"

"Because you're even more annoying when you're all depressed and shit."

And then, as fast as Spain, Kelly's mood completely changed. She smiled again. "Good. I don't like doing that."

Oh, look, another Spain reference. Lovino sighed inwardly. The asshole had only been gone a day and he was already acting like he'd died or something. Or like he was really clingy and couldn't get over it. That needed to _stop_. He wasn't going to go all Belarus on Spain any time soon.

A few more minutes of silent walking passed before they turned a corner and Kelly spoke again. "Sooo…" Her hands were clasped behind her back and she rocked back and forth as she stepped. Trying to be cute, probably.

"What?"

"Are you and Spain like…?" Kelly crossed two of her fingers and held them up, accompanied by a '_cch_' sound.

"No. Why the fuck do you care?" Lovino answered, maybe a bit too quickly. Kelly's mouth curved into a light smile.

"I'm sorry, that's all. It has to be hard."

"Is this your idea of small talk? 'Cause it sucks."

"We'll find him, don't worry."

"Who the hell was worrying?"

Kelly didn't answer. Lovino looked away, suddenly very annoyed with her. Why did she have to keep bringing this stuff up? He'd just met her the day before, and he didn't even know she was a country (well…kind of) until very recently. Now she was asking all these personal questions, in that irritating, high-pitched voice of hers, and he wasn't taking too kindly to it.

"You know, we should check in all the places Spain would be in New York first."

"No shit."

"Are you mad at me?"

Lovino sighed sharply. "Mad and annoyed are different."

"I can stop talking if you want me to."

"No…well…" Lovino pursed his lips. "Just don't talk so loud."

"Okey dokey."

Everything felt awkward with Kelly. Lovino didn't like talking, he didn't like people who got excited, and he didn't like people who smiled all the time. Except for one person, of course, who was all those things, who did all that. And everyone else be damned if he wasn't the only person Lovino cared about. Shit didn't make sense, did it?

"He's not at the hotel."

"There are Spanish parts of New York. I know where they are," Kelly said.

"Mexican. There's a difference."

"No, I mean like Spanish-Spanish. Like from Spain."

"I'm thinking more like airport. All our tickets are for tonight."

"Too obvious."

"Spain's fucking cheap."

"But he hasn't been predictable lately, has he?"

"That doesn't mean everything's gonna be different."

"It might."

Lovino swallowed. "We're not getting anywhere."

"This is hard. We can just kind of look around, though, can't we?"

"Nope."

Kelly looked at him inquisitively, eyebrows furrowing. It was probably the only remotely cute thing she'd done so far. (No! What the fuck was he thinking?)

"Kinda forgot to tell you. We only have a week."

"Why?"

"Eyebrows is going to start a war. Got all bitchy over France."

Kelly stopped. "And just _when_ were you going to tell me?"

"When I fucking _felt_ like it, that's when."

Kelly groaned in frustration. "You're not helping!"

"And all you do is bitch and whine!"

"I do not!"

"_Myeh, you don't help. I do all the work. Nag nag nag!_"

"You're not focused!"

"I'm more fucking focused than you. I'm just glad we haven't seen anything shiny!"

"I don't think you care!"

Lovino's mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out. Didn't care? Didn't fucking _care?_

"If I don't care then no one does!"

Lovino turned in the middle of the sidewalk, starting in the opposite direction. If Kelly was going to be a pain in the ass, he was just going to let her do that on her own. Let her get in those extra hours at the restaurant; at least it would get her out of the world's hair for two seconds.

"Lovino…"

"Call me Italy!"

"You can't give up!"

Lovino whirled around for what he vowed to be the last time, glaring intensely at Kelly. "I'm not giving up!"

"Well—"

But Lovino wasn't listening anymore. He stormed down the sidewalk, hands balled into fists. And still, inside, he was angrier at himself than anyone else. He was running away again. He was running from problems that he didn't know how to face, or ones that overwhelmed him, or ones that looked like too much hassle. He was a coward and he knew it and god_dammit_ he hated himself for it.

Kelly came jogging after him after a moment, calling his name. He didn't look, trying to focus on something else. The bruises on his stomach and back, for instance, or his nails digging into the palms of his hands. It wasn't enough of a distraction, though, and soon Kelly had caught up to him.

"Don't leave me here!" she yelled, huffing loudly. "I'm trying to get this done and you're just making it difficult!"

Lovino took a deep breath, continuing to walk. It was followed by a thick swallow, and he exhaled shakily. Calm down. Just stay calm. There's no reason to get angry. You get angry at everything else but right now you don't have to.

"I just want to help you! Can't you just accept it?"

"Look," he said suddenly. Kelly stopped just as she was about to yell again. Lovino cleared his throat. "I don't know you. I just met you. We aren't friends, we don't like any of the same things, and I don't give a good fuck about you. Now I'm going to go find Spain, and you can follow if you want, but if you think you're running this whole thing you have another thing coming. Got it?"

His voice was surprisingly even and calm as he spoke, and as he finished he looked up at Kelly, eyes hard. He needed to make a point, and if she didn't get it he was probably going to lose control and kill her or something. She was silent for a moment, and then she sighed. Goddammit with all the _sighing_.

"Okay."

Well _that_ was entirely unexpected. Maybe Kelly was more of a pushover than Lovino had originally expected. She balled her hand into a fist and then released it, and Lovino noticed for the first time the stares they were getting. When _New Yorkers_ started to stare at you, you knew you were making a scene.

"Right. Okay then." Now it was just kind of awkward. He had expected more fighting, not this sudden agreement, and it was more than a bit confusing. He blinked, unsure what to do, before starting back up the street, in the direction of the airport. Because everyone-be-damned if he was going back on what he said before.

Anyway, he knew Spain, and he knew that the older man would try to get as far away as possible to think things over. Unless he had just gone completely crazy and wasn't going to do anything Spain-like anymore. Because in that case he had absolutely no idea where to start.

"Are we good now?" Kelly asked after a moment, considerably quieter than before.

Lovino sighed. "Yeah. We're good."

…

It really was a gorgeous day over the JFK International Airport, but if Lovino noticed he didn't show it. He and Kelly had eventually taken a taxi, but their conversation had been very limited, thank God. She had managed to remain relatively quiet, which Lovino had no problem with, and for the most part she seemed to be okay with it. Not wanting to ruin whatever blissful silence he would be allotted, Lovino didn't say anything.

As they stepped out of the cab, Lovino felt his stomach tighten. It really was a huge place, with sprawling grounds and impossible signs, giving you no real direction. Finding someone here was almost as difficult as finding someone in New York…here Spain could be anywhere.

That is, if he even _was_ here. Lovino, honestly, wasn't sure. To be even more honest he had absolutely no idea where the hell Spain was, where the hell he could be or where to begin looking. The world was a big place, and so far he was limited to areas that Spain could have possibly reached in a day or two. Which was basically everywhere, if he was willing to spend enough money.

They walked into the main terminal, looking around at the huge building. There were people everywhere, and they were of all different shapes, sizes, colors and _God_ this was going to be hard. Luckily there were a shitload of people with turbans and yarmulkes and stuff like that so they could be cancelled out. Then there were all the really white people, the Asian people…and that only left about a billion other people. His eyes glazed over as he scanned the crowd.

"Why would he have come to the airport so early?"

Lovino nearly jumped as Kelly spoke. She'd been so silent that now it was kind of surprising.

"He can be a bitch about these things."

"It makes no sense, though."

"Spain doesn't make sense."

They started off toward the next floor, having deemed the lower one Spain-free. As they walked to find some stairs (or an escalator…apparently exercise wasn't allowed) they found themselves in the land of food and souvenirs. And more people than they could possibly count. Lovino groaned.

"I think we should split up," Kelly said, looking around. Lovino shrugged.

So they went in opposite directions with the general promise that if they found Spain anywhere, they'd clamp onto his wrist or ankle and make their way to the front door. Whichever one that was, again. Anyway, Lovino wasn't feeling so confident about finding the Spanish man here anymore. It was all great in theory, but now that they were here…

And suddenly he was alone. He spun in a circle, but Kelly was nowhere to be found. Well _that_ was convenient. He blinked, starting off in some random direction, hoping that it wasn't the same one that Kelly had gone. He realized with a bit of amusement that he couldn't actually force himself to think of her as a country. Oh well. Time to go look around.

To spare you all the fantastically boring details, Spain was not in the airport. He was not anywhere near the airport. He may never have been at the airport in his life. An announcement was made, and nobody had seen anyone who looked even _remotely_ like Spain. So, considerably annoyed, Lovino and Kelly left to go find the largest street nearby and hail a cab.

They stood on the sidewalk, Kelly doing all the arm-waving. Lovino leaned against a light pole, arms crossed. The road was boring as hell, and it wasn't like there was something to do.

They watched as taxi after taxi sped by, completely oblivious to the two people standing impatiently by the road. Not one seemed like it was planning on stopping soon, and Lovino was getting rather irritated.

"Can't they see we're fucking _here_?"

"I don't know," Kelly said, brow furrowing. She held up her arm again as another yellow car went by. "This is kinda weird."

"Two more and I'm walking."

Kelly suddenly looked very concerned. "You can't just _go_."

"One."

Kelly turned just as the taxi went whizzing by, a plastic bag bouncing lightly along behind it. Then she leaned out, peering anxiously down the street. Lovino closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. There was no real explanation for how pissed off he was now, but that's just the way things were.

For the next few minutes there was no movement on the street. No cars, no trucks, and definitely no more taxis. They waited in complete silence, Lovino glaring at a nearby tree. Then, in the distance, they heard a motor.

The cab came around the corner, slowing to a stop as Kelly held her hand up. She grinning and turned to Lovino, who wasn't really paying attention.

"C'mon!"

He jumped, looking up. When he saw Kelly waving enthusiastically at him, he sighed. Oh well. It was better than walking.

He got into the seat next to her, as she gave the driver instructions. He didn't respond, simply starting the car again and moving forward. Lovino didn't have the door fully closed, and he cursed as he slammed it shut.

"Watch it, fucktard," he said angrily, crossing his arms again.

There was no response and Lovino let it drop. Maybe the guy didn't speak English or something. How the hell did you drive a cab in New York and…whatever.

There were a few minutes of silence before: "Now where?"

Lovino didn't answer, because frankly he had no idea. Where would Spain be? Where on Earth could he be? Why did…no. Stop that thought there.

But it continued. Why did Lovino want to find him so badly? What was in it for him? Being able to talk this all through? Did he really want to do that? If he had any other choice it would be just to forget that any of this happened, but that was just as cowardly as anything else he'd done. Dammit. He couldn't win.

He stared aimlessly out the window, eyes becoming numb to the scenery of buildings and sidewalks. New York was such a remarkably ugly place. With tall, looming skyscrapers of gray and mirrors, gritty sidewalks and streets littered with the trash of a gigantic population, it was like driving through a heating vent. And a boring one at that.

Lovino was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice when Kelly tapped his shoulder. At least, not at first. Soon she was shaking his arm violently, and he turned on her.

"_What_?" he hissed.

"This isn't where I said to go," she whispered, staring with wide eyes out the windshield. "Like, this is the complete opposite direction."

"He's a retard. Just tell him again."

Kelly did, a bit less confidently than before. There was no answer from the cabbie, and he made no move to turn.

Lovino swallowed thickly, an unsettling feeling finding its way into his stomach. "Mm…maybe it's just a detour."

"Maybe," Kelly tried to agree, but she didn't sound convinced.

"Hey," Lovino said a loudly, trying to get the attention of the driver. "Turn around. You're going the wrong way."

There was no response.

"Hey, fuckwad! Let us the hell out!"

Nothing.

"Dammit! Listen to me!"

The driver remained as silent as before, but this time he reached down by his feet. Lovino heard a click, like a switch being flipped, and there was a low hum. His heart started to speed up, and now he had no idea what the hell the stupid guy was doing. Jesus Christ, of _all the fucking taxis in New York…_

Suddenly, the air seemed thinner than before. Kelly looked at Lovino with wide eyes as their breaths began to speed up. But why…what the hell was going on?

"Fuck it! I'm leaving!" Lovino yelled, panic starting to set it. He fiddled with the door, trying to get it open, but every time he tried to unlock it and open the door it was locked again. Kelly was doing the same, also to no avail. Finally, Lovino resorted to punching at the driver's shoulder. It was getting harder to breathe, and Lovino was starting to get lightheaded.

"Let us the _fuck_ out!"

The cab was starting to spin and Lovino couldn't keep up the yelling and hitting anymore. He clutched at the seat, trying not to let his eyes close. Kelly was already nodding off.

He barely noticed the taxi coming to a stop, and as his eyes finally closed he looked up at the driver. The last thing he saw before everything went black was the driver's face, obscured by a mouthpiece, linked to an oxygen tank.

…

_That's what happens when you let Kelly choose the cab, Romano! *tsk tsk* Here we go again..._

_(Oh, and in case any of you were worried about Kelly, like her becoming a main character and that you don't like OCs, don't worry. This is still a Spamano story.)_

_Review, fave, love, hate...I AM DESPERATE FOR AFFECTION. D: And, something I forgot to mention earlier, if you see any grammar or spelling errors, feel free to tell me and I'll fix them. Because I'm a bad person and I don't proofread._


	8. Creeper

_D: This is really, really late. _

_I'm so sorry orz I tried to get this out earlier but I really only finished it about two minutes ago so yeah. That also means there was no proofreading :D I suck._

_Spain is back in this chapter; aren't you excited? Don't worry, his personality will be explained in time. I didn't realize this story would be so long, but hey, why not? *ahem* Okay, I'll stop talking now. _

_Here ya go ;)_

…

_"After a crippling series of terrorist attacks on Paris, France, major world leaders have been coming together to discuss the best course of action. The attacks were initiated by what appear to be right-wing groups from areas of northern Spain, and in a completely unprovoked assault on President Nicolas Sarkozy hundreds were wounded."_

Lovino's eyes opened slowly as the sounds of a radio…or maybe a television…crept into his consciousness. He took a deep breath, cutting it short as pain stabbed into his side. His thoughts flicked to the fight on the street. Then the rest of the day rushed to him, and for the first time he became aware of his surroundings.

There was a hand on the top of his head, lazily running through his hair. His head was resting on something soft…a leg. He swallowed, eyes widening. In front of him there was a carpet…a wooden cabinet…a television…the news was on. Fingers continued to the nape of his neck, and he shuddered. Don't move…don't move…don't let them know you're awake…maybe this is all a dream…

But Lovino couldn't keep it up as the fingers started to dance down his neck and back up to his hair. His head shot up, and he lost his balance. There was a cry of surprise, and he fell off of the sofa. Landing on the carpet, he looked up at the other person sitting there.

Immediately his mouth was dry. Spain smiled, the warmth of the gesture showing all across his face. Then he slid off the couch, sitting in front of Lovino on the floor. The smile didn't leave his face as his hand came up to caress the younger man's face.

"Good morning, sunshine."

Lovino didn't move, staring blankly at Spain. Well, he thought, at least there won't be any more searching. Then he swallowed, his hand coming up to meet the one brushing his cheek. For a moment he fought with words, before finally landing on the only one that mattered.

"Why?"

Spain looked a bit confused, but it was still so damn pleasant. "Why what?"

"You know."

For a moment a sad look drifted across Spain's face. "I had a feeling you'd bring that up." He sighed. "I overreacted."

"You _think_?"

Lovino was finally starting to gain his bearings again. He grabbed Spain's wrist, pulling the hand from his face. It was hard to do…but after the events of the past few days he was in no mood to be doing anything of _that_ sort. Spain stared at him for a moment, as though searching for something.

"It got out of hand. I'm sorry. I'll apologize."

"You better do it _quick_."

"_Mi Lovi_, don't be angry."

"England's going to beat your ass into the ground. _I'm_ not fucking angry."

There was a rustling of fabric as Spain stood up. He offered a hand to Lovino, who refused. As he stood up, however, he was immediately dizzy. Not having noticed it before he realized he had a horrible headache.

"Are you okay?"

"What did you do to the cab?"

There was no malice; if anything just plain curiosity. Spain chucked lightly, his hand darting out to help Lovino keep his balance. The younger man pushed the arm away, fingers coming up to massage his aching temples.

"It wasn't my idea, trust me."

"That's not what I asked."

"I'm not sure. Hermán said it wouldn't hurt you."

"Did he say anything about fucking cracking my _head_ open?"

Spain didn't have an answer to that, except for a hand coming up to feel Lovino's forehead. _No, you idiot, I'm not sick_.

It was kind of ridiculous how easy it was to talk to Spain right now. Before he had seemed unreachable and cold, and so completely unlike himself and now…now he was absolutely normal. He was acting as stupid and naïve and fucking_ charming_ as usual. (Not that Lovino said that. He was still pissed at him.)

"Oh! I almost forgot!"

Lovino looked up at Spain in annoyance.

"Who was that girl you were with?"

"Nobody important."

"But she was with you in the taxi! And she got picked up with you too. Is she someone special?"

"No."

"Why won't you answer me?"

"Why are you so annoying?"

Spain's mouth flattened into a straight line. "Who is she?"

It was unexpected, the sudden change of mood. Lovino froze, mouth open, as he examined the look on Spain's face.

"She's was helping me look for you," he said carefully.

It took a second, but just as suddenly as before Spain's mood changed. "Oh! You were looking for me? How sweet!" Before Lovino could respond he'd been wrapped up into a hug.

"Yeah, yeah." But Lovino made no move to escape the embrace. Spain's moods changed more dramatically that Kelly's. And some of his…some of them were scarier. Lovino wasn't quite used to this yet, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be.

Come to think of it, over the past few days he hadn't been thinking of Spain as he used to. There were no more lewd dreams, no more silently planning to spend the most time possible with the older man…nothing. It had only been a day, but it was still weird.

That had to have been why he was so surprised when he felt Spain press a light kiss to the side of his neck. It took a second to process, and then he realized that it was _him _and it was _Spain_ and Spain was _kissing him_ and…and…

"Uh…what are you…" Lovino didn't move.

Spain planted another soft kiss just a bit higher up the younger man's neck, and Lovino swallowed thickly. Think angry thoughts. Think angry thoughts. Ah…why did this have to feel so good? Dammit.

Spain continued up Lovino's neck, kissing each spot slowly and softly. Lovino made a small noise and he could feel Spain smiling. As those goddamn…damn perfect…stupid…Jesus…as _Spain's_ lips reached the base of his ear they released.

"I missed you," Spain whispered into Lovino's ear, earning him a shudder. _No, dammit! I'm pissed at him! I'm goddamn ANGRY._

But he wasn't. The Spain he'd been angry with wasn't this one. It wasn't the sweet, loving, kind Spain that he had known his whole life. That one was still the same. He felt no fear, no anger when he was with _this_ Spain. The real one.

"Um…me too."

Lovino's voice was small, and Spain smiled a bit sadly. "I'm really sorry about before. I don't know what came over me…"

"Y'know. It's okay." Lovino looked down.

"No, no. It's not. _Lo siento, mi dispiace_."

Spain always used languages besides English when he was trying to appeal to Lovino. And…well, it didn't _work_, per se…ah, what the hell. It worked. Lovino relaxed a little, and for the first time decided to look around.

The room was of an average size for a New York apartment, which meant that it was quite small. The loveseat and the television took up a good three-quarters of it, and it was all a quite drab off-white. A single window was on the other end, and it opened up to a beautiful view of the construction being done on the building. All in all it was entirely nondescript, and so very unlike Spain.

Suddenly, a very pressing concern took over Lovino's senses.

"Food."

Spain looked up suddenly as Lovino spoke. His eyes must have been wandering. "Hm?

"I'm fucking starving."

Lovino hadn't eaten for more than a day and he felt like he was about to implode. Immediately his mind turned from Spain to food. Any food. Jesus, he wanted food.

Spain laughed. "Okay. _Okay_. What do you want?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

"Pasta it is."

The fact that Spain had stocked the small apartment with spaghetti and other ingredients already should have been creepy, but when accompanied by the fact that Spain was going to be making him food and _oh sweet Jesus food_ Lovino plopped back down on the couch, leaning his head back as Spain moved about the kitchen in the next room. After a few minutes some lovely smells came wafting in. At least Spain could cook.

A little while later and Lovino was sitting in front of a beautiful-looking plate of pasta, stomach rumbling loudly. They sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, and without further ado Lovino dug in.

"Good?"

Lovino held up one finger as he chewed through the first bite, swallowing dramatically. He stared off into the middle distance for a moment before raising his eyebrows.

"It's passable."

"Oh, _thank you_, your highness."

"Better fucking believe it."

Spain grinned and Lovino took another bite. It was really pretty good, and although the sauce _could_ have been better Lovino didn't say anything. Mostly because he was distracted by something else.

"You just gonna stare at me the whole time?"

"Maybe."

"Stalker." But Lovino finished his meal without further comment.

When he was done Spain picked up the plate, and Lovino followed him to the sink. Spain washed it quickly, Lovino watching him in silence. After drying his hands on a dishtowel the older man turned to him.

"Are you mad at me?"

Was he? "I don't know." And for good measure, "Bastard."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise. Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?"

"Can't."

Spain was surprised at that. "What other _pressing obligations _could you have?" His voice was light and sweet, if not a bit mocking.

"We need to go talk to England."

There was a pause. "Why?"

Lovino sighed. "Because he got all touchy and now if we _don't_ he's going all Rambo on your ass. America too."

Spain seemed to ponder this for a second. "He won't do that right away, will he?"

"I don't know. Let's go _ask_ him."

Lovino felt Spain's arms curl around him, pulling him tight, and he honestly couldn't help the little flip in his stomach. Spain leaned in to his ear again.

"We have a little time," he whispered huskily, and Lovino felt a chill run down his spine. Once again he was at a loss for words…and goddammit…he really had nothing to say to that. What _was_ there to say? _Haha, there sure is_? He bit onto his lower lip lightly, staring ahead at the cabinets on the wall.

They stayed that way for a moment before Spain spoke again. "You were asleep a long time. I could barely help myself…"

Under any other circumstances Lovino would have hit Spain for being such a creep, but his mind got stuck on what had been said before that. "How long?"

"Just a day. I'm glad you're awake now," Spain smiled a bit lewdly. Lovino's breath caught.

"I'm not gonna fucking run out of time. We have to go back. Now."

"I think…" Spain's breath was far too hot, and Lovino felt his resolve crumbling. "I think there's _more_ than enough time."

"Sure, but…"

"Shhh."

Lovino suddenly found his mouth occupied. He froze, becoming stiff in Spain's arms. The older man started to gently encourage him, tilting his head to the side and making the kiss harder.

After a moment Lovino gave up. When Spain was right there, kissing him, holding him…it was the third time something like this had happened in the past day and he wasn't going to push it away now. His lips started moving on their own, and Spain smiled into the kiss. He pulled Lovino closer.

This was the easy way out, and Lovino knew it. He knew that if this were some movie he wouldn't be doing this. If he had any discipline or morals he wouldn't be doing this. But _fuck it_, Spain was kissing him, and he was going to damn well let him. And Spain was sure taking the opportunity. He leaned in so their bodies were pressed tight against each other, deepening the kiss as much as possible.

Lovino relaxed, lips and tongue sliding against Spain's. His arms wrapped around the back of the other man's neck, and for just a moment…just for a single moment everything seemed fine. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted this. He really hadn't. And it was overwhelming.

They broke apart, Spain staring at Lovino intensely. "I'm glad you came after me."

"…yeah."

Oh, how fucking _articulate_. Yeah. Was that all he could come up with? Lovino glared at the taller man, but he made no move to break the embrace. Spain was really warm. Not that he hadn't found that out when he was a small child and still under Spain's control (shut up, he wasn't a pedophile), but it was still very nice.

Lovino looked up at Spain for a moment before speaking. "Where _were_ you?"

Spain's arms left Lovino's body, flying out to the sides. "Right here," he said, before returning to Lovino's hips. The younger man swallowed, trying not to smile.

"You're an idiot."

"…maybe," Spain said with a smile, leaning down to kiss Lovino again. Lovino sighed into the kiss and let his body melt into Spain's. Then the older man's lips started to travel down Lovino's neck.

The Italian man tilted his head to the side, allowing Spain more access. Soft kisses ran to his collarbone, one of his fingers hooking over the collar of his shirt and pulling it down just a little. Lovino took a deep breath, and when he let it out it turned rather embarrassingly into a weak moan. Spain laughed before leaning back in to focus on one point on Lovino's neck.

_Ah…God…_Lovino felt a shock run straight to his groin and he groaned. "We should…Spain…_we need to go_," he said, but he didn't move.

"Mmm…" Spain hummed in agreement against Lovino's neck. "We should."

"So…yeah…let's…"

"Like I said before, I think we have just a _little_ time."

There was nothing more that Lovino could do to complain as Spain's fingers curled around the bottom of his t-shirt. They broke apart just long enough for Lovino to lift his arms and for the shirt to be discarded. He then pressed his chest up against Spain's, taking control of the kiss. Hands roamed across his back, and he wasn't sure he'd ever felt this content just being next to someone before.

Spain pulled Lovino as close as possible, and for a moment Lovino felt fine. Then a sharp pain shot through his back, right under one of Spain's hands, and he hissed, jerking away. Spain's eyes shot open and he gasped, stepping back. He stared at Lovino from arms length for a while.

Shit. The bruises. Lovino hadn't really seen them yet, and he was still wearing the clothes from the day before, so he could only imagine. Looking down, he saw a large brown and yellow spot at the base of his ribs, and some more splotches along his sides in all shades of purple and brown. Spain was silent, and Lovino felt sick to his stomach.

"Um…yeah…just listen…" Lovino's eyes wandered up to Spain's, and the look he saw there took him aback.

Spain's eyes were wide and wild, his mouth slightly open. One of his hands came up to gingerly run along the largest bruise. Then his gaze flicked to Lovino's face.

"Who did this?"

Lovino's hand came up to unconsciously rub the back of his neck. "Just some kids. It's fine."

"What did they look like?" Spain's voice was sharp and demanding. How many times was this going to _happen_? Lovino bit his lip.

"I didn't really see. _Look_, it's fine."

"Where?"

"Jesus, Spain, _listen_ to me!"

"Someone _hurt you!_"

"I noticed, so calm down! You already fucked one thing up, and if you go do it again I don't care how much I like you, I'm turning you in!"

Spain seemed not to have heard him. "_Where_?"

"Fuck this!" Lovino grabbed his shirt off of the floor and yanked it back on. "I'm leaving!"

He started out the door, hating himself. Here he was, running away again. He couldn't even handle an argument.

A hand closed around his wrist, and he was jerked backwards. He cried out as he fell, arms flying out to try and catch himself. He landed hard on his elbows on the linoleum floor, grunting as pain shot through his arms. He took the weight off of them, cradling them in his hands.

"What the fuck?" Lovino yelled, eyes closed. He rocked back and forth just slightly, and it was only a moment later that he heard the second thud.

Spain fell to his knees, arms wrapping around Lovino. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to…please forgive me…"

"What's wrong with you?"

Spain's voice was thick when he answered. "I don't know, I'm sorry."

"Shit, you just need to calm down."

Spain nodded, and Lovino realized that he was crying. "We should go."

The pain in Lovino's elbows was starting to subside. "I'm fine, okay? Look, I'm not dead."

"I won't do that again. I promise."

"If you do I'm kicking your ass."

"_Sí, sí. Lo siento, mi Lovi._" Spain stood up, helping Lovino as he did. "_Debemos ir._"

"That's what I've been saying all along."

…

Looking around, Lovino realized that the apartment where Spain had been wasn't too far from the hotel. So Spain had been too lazy to even get out of town. It was just like him. After further inquiry, Lovino found out that Spain had already owned it, and he had just run to it after shooting Francis. Stupid bastard couldn't even make a proper getaway.

Spain had been very quiet, and Lovino was at a loss as to why. So he pushed him over. Big whoop. That kind of stuff happened every day. There was no reason to get so worked up.

"So, what happened? Exactly?"

Lovino almost jumped at Spain's voice. "Hm?"

"What happened for you to get all those bruises? Was it a fight?" Spain was looking down at his feet.

"Just an accident. Some guys wanted to fuck with someone…and I was just kind of there, I guess. Happens all the time."

"Oh."

"You know, the cops are probably after you now. With the shooting and stuff."

Spain paused, as though he'd never considered the idea before. "Maybe. Francis will be okay, though. Right? He won't hold a grudge."

"I dunno, you ever done anything like this before?"

Spain didn't answer, piquing Lovino's interest. He shoved his hands in his pockets as the hotel came into view, and with it a wave of anxiety. This one goddamn hotel had been a bitch and now they were back at it again. Stupid meetings, stupid Spain, stupid France, stupid fucking world.

"If you don't answer I'm assuming you're a serial killer."

"I have."

Lovino was quiet for a second. "Figures."

"It was much worse back then."

Before Lovino could ask how they reached the large glass double doors of the hotel, Spain opening them first and allowing Lovino to pass through. The man behind the check-in counter looked up, his eyes went wide, and then he looked back down. Lovino could have laughed, if he wasn't on his way to go stop a war.

Spain looked like he was uncomfortable, but Lovino didn't really care. Just down that hallway, through that door, and everything would be okay again. And _Jesus_ it needed to be. The large wooden door was closed, so Lovino opened it proudly. Here was Spain, now they could stop all this shit…

It was empty. The room was empty.

Lovino froze. Oh _hell_ no. Spain came up behind him, looking around, but he couldn't say anything.

"Where is everyone?"

For a moment Lovino couldn't form words. Then, surprising even to his own ears, he managed to choke out: "They fucking _ditched_ us."

Spain was deeply confused. "Were they going to stay here all week?"

Lovino felt helpless. Nobody told him he'd have to go find _England_, too. Jesus Christ. The fucker just loved making him work, didn't he? Lovino screamed in frustration, hands coming up to clutch at his hair. "Why?"

Spain put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. It was large and warm. Lovino sighed, relaxing a little. "They must have left something," he said, trying to be reassuring. Lovino wasn't going to stand for it.

"This is complete shit! They just fucking _leave_ after saying they're gonna start a _war_, of all fucking things, and now I have no fucking way I'm going to fucking find them and fuck fuck _fuck!" _

Spain chuckled a little, leaving Lovino even more irritated. "It'll be fine, _mi Lovi_. "

"You don't understand; you never do! Everything's just all rainbows and fucking butterflies in tomato-bastard land, isn't it? Pssh, fucking _war_, who gives a shit?" Lovino scrunched his eyes closed, growling. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt this pissed at England before. When everything was so serious, what right did he have to just leave Lovino hanging like that? He said a week, and he was damn well going to keep that, no matter what the hell the fates wanted.

"I understand," Spain said smoothly, working Lovino's hand from its stone grip on his hair. "There's no use getting worked up, that's all."

There was no way Lovino could communicate how angry he was to the lax older man, so he didn't try. It wasn't like he should care, though, right? He didn't care about anyone, let alone Spain. He didn't give a shit half the time, and there was no reason he should start now.

But who was he kidding? He didn't want Spain to go to war. That would be like the crap topping on a shitfest and now that the crush he'd been nursing for years was being fulfilled he wasn't going to let anything compromise that. England could go suck it. They'd find him, politely hand his ass to him and leave. There we go. That was Lovino. Things were good now.

"You got tea-bastard's phone number?" he asked Spain, who for a moment seemed to be in shock at the sudden mood switch. Then the older man nodded.

"I think so," he said, fumbling in his pocket for his phone. After a moment of searching a smile curled across his face. "Right here." Then he handed the phone to Lovino, who quickly scanned the numbers. Then, without returning the phone he dialed the number, slapping the phone to his ear unceremoniously.

It rang once, twice, three and four times. Then, just after the fifth ring, someone picked up.

"Hello, this is England—"

"Yeah, it's Romano. Where the fuck are you?"

"—I can't answer the phone right now, but if you could leave your name, number and a short message I'll get back to you. If this is America—"

Lovino groaned, snapping the phone shut. Who the fuck had a voicemail that sounded like answering the phone? Dammit. He handed Spain his phone, crossing his arms. Then he turned, scanning the room. It was completely empty and clean, with no traces of any meeting ever having taken place. Which was complete shit.

"Ay, Lovi…"

Lovino looked over at Spain, who was poking a piece of paper taped to the inside of the door. He strode over, ripping it off and reading it. His eyes flicked back and forth, eyebrows furrowing as he did. Spain leaned over his shoulder, reading with him.

_Romano and/or hotel staff,_

_ My sincerest apologies, but as you have noticed we were forced to relocate. We are now in America's house upstate. I have included an address below. As it is most likely not Romano who has found this, however, please discard this letter. It is not of importance. We thank the hotel for its cooperation and tips are on the table._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

Below the letter was an address. Lovino's lips twitched. So the tea-bastard didn't even think he'd find Spain? What did the asshole take him for? Lovino ripped out the address and put it in his pocket. Then he proceeded in ripping the rest of the letter to shreds on the floor. Spain looked at him skeptically, before his eyes softened.

"So, road-trip time," he said, a faint smile finding its way onto his face. Lovino grumbled something about tea being stupid, but other than that he made no comment.

"Let's go," he said, scowling his usual. Before they left, however, he made sure to collect all the money on the meeting table. Take that, England.

As they started back down the hallway, hopefully for the last time, Spain's hand found his. At first he wanted to shake it away, hissing a low, _"not here, bastard_," but he made no move to do so. They held hands as they left the hotel, and Lovino would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. If you told anyone about that, though, he'd kill you. With fire.

"You know, this might be fun," Spain said cheerfully. Lovino sulked.

"It won't be. It's boring as hell and completely unnecessary."

"Hey," Spain's smile widened, and he leaned in to Lovino's ear. "We might even find those bastards who hurt you. That would be fun."

Lovino sighed. That was fucking creepy. As they walked down the street, though, he felt a twinge of a thought dart into his mind.

What happened to Kelly?

...

_Heeeey :D So Spain's all nice again? What? Confusing stuff is gonna be happening. Not that it hasn't already. And I'm also sorry about the ending, if it seems a bit rushed. I was just kind of like 'Okay! Plot point! Hell yeah! ...now what?'_

_America having a house in upstate New York...well, that's where I live, so I figured it'd be easier to write accurately about places I know. Yeah...um...so...that's really the only reason._

_OH, I almost forgot! The rating may or may not go up for the rest of the story. Well, it definitely will, but I'm just deciding when. So if you see it has changed by the time the next chapter rolls around, it means I'm starting to get into the real nitty-gritty. If it doesn't, remain patient. It will eventually._

_If you find any typos or grammatical errors, please tell me._

_AND REVIEW. PLEASE. Because I love you all X3 and I crave approval. *Puss in Boots eyes* Please?_


	9. Don't Touch Him

_Okay! Crappy chapter time!_

_So I've been putting off writing this because I had no idea what to write. None at all. Finally, I decided to just buckle down and get something written. If it's bad, if you don't believe it, if you see any logical errors and if you just plain don't like it I'm sorry. And the rating won't go up just yet. Anyway, with the language I use in this I think it should have already. Oh well._

_Enjoy._

...

By using their fabulous nation authority, Spain and Romano managed to get a car of their own to drive up to America's house. And, after remembering his dream from a few days before, Lovino made sure he was the one who drove. There would be no tearing down alleys or jumping out of moving vehicles on his watch. At least, none that he enforced. If Spain wanted to jump out that was his choice entirely. Bastard.

Lovino was also relieved to find that he was becoming normal again. No more crying and running away for him. That was for helpless assholes who couldn't do shit. He was going to keep a clear head, find England and settle this whole matter once and for all. There would be no more James Bond-style time limits or impending war. Everything would be all hunky-dory again.

"How long do you think it'll take?" Spain asked as they left the city limits. Lovino shrugged.

"Dunno. Couple hours."

Spain hummed softly in assent. Then he reached forward and flipped on the radio. After a moment of searching he left it on the news. So maybe he was a bit paranoid about the whole shooting France ordeal.

"_…the cat was rescued safely and returned to overjoyed owners Dale and Marissa Banks...now, just how did this courageous little feline manage to trump nature and logic and find his way home? That story coming up in just a few minutes, not on to…"_

Spain made a small noise akin to laughing and he changed the channel again. Now it was some pop channel that Lovino wasn't really partial to. Spain seemed to relax, though, so he didn't say anything.

The song petered out and another one started out. At first Lovino didn't recognize it, but then Spain nudged his shoulder, grinning wildly.

"Don't touch the driver," Lovino warned.

"You love this song, Lovi!"

Lovino sighed, glancing down to the radio. He knew what it was now, but he didn't know what Spain expected him to do. That was probably why he was so horrified when Spain started to dance in his seat.

"_Oh, baby, when you talk like that…"_ Oh God. Now he was singing. In the upper register, too.

"I used to like this song," Lovino growled. "But it got old."

He was ignored as Spain burst into a high, unnecessarily loud chorus. "_I'M ON TONIGHT, YOU KNOW MY HIPS DON'T LIE…_come on, Lovi! It's a road trip!" The older man looked far too excited for his own good.

Lovino shook his head dismissively, but he started to mouth the words under his breath. Spain shook his head dramatically.

"Sing!"

"I can't sing!"

"This, coming from the land of opera? I don't think so…"

"That's Feliciano, dumbass."

"Come on!"

Lovino gripped the wheel tightly, glaring at the road. "No."

"Please?"

"_No_."

"_Cómo se llama...bonita…" _Spain sang to Lovino, who shook his head adamantly.

"…_mi casa…SHAKIRA, SHAKIRA!"_

Spain was an idiot. Lovino glared at him, hoping he'd take the hint and _stop goddamn singing_. No such luck.

"If you don't sing with me I'll sing along to every song on the radio, the whole way up."

Lovino sighed sharply. "You don't _know_ every song."

"Exactly."

"Fine! Whatever!" Lovino conceded angrily, knuckles turning white. "Look, we already missed the good part."

"So you admit you like it?" Spain asked, a smug smile curling his lips.

"…_you know my hips don't lie and I'm starting to feel you, boy…"_ Lovino sang low, trying to divert his eyes from Spain, who seemed oddly transfixed.

"Louder," he encouraged, and Lovino flipped him off. He did, however, sing a bit louder.

"_Don't you see, baby, así es perfecto_…that's it. That's all I'm doing."

Spain was staring at Lovino, looking remarkably as though he was in awe. Lovino didn't know why. Spain had a much better singing voice than he did, along with pretty much every single country there ever lived.

"No! You have to keep going! I'll sing with you?" The last part came out as more of a question than a statement, looking to Lovino for approval.

Lovino sighed sharply. "Sure. Fine." He knew in the back of his mind that if it had been anyone else asking him he would have said no.

Lovino started to sing, but was actually surprised when he didn't see Spain doing the same. He glared at the older man accusingly, but he knew all the words so he didn't necessarily stop singing…you know…

"I don't know this part," Spain said sheepishly. "Foresight…"

"_I don't…don't really know what I'm doing…_" Lovino thought that part fit the situation perfectly.

Spain watched him intently as he sang all the parts that nobody who'd just heard the song in passing knew, waiting for the chorus. When it arrived he grinned, busting out his best Shakira impression while Lovino sang as…that other guy. The guy, you know? The one in the song? Never mind.

"_I'm on tonight, you know my hips don't like and I'm starting to feel you, boy!"_

And so it continued, all the way through the song. Spain was grinning like an idiot, laughing half the time as his Shakira imitation got worse and worse (not that it had far to fall), and by the end Lovino was smiling too.

"_No fighting_…"

"_No fighting_…"

Spain sighed loudly, flopping back into his seat. It wasn't as though he'd left it, but the dancing-in-place had required more energy than expected. Lovino snorted.

"You're an idiot."

"And _you_ should sing more."

"That's Feliciano's thing."

"And unless he's around you every second of the day I don't think that counts."

Lovino laughed mirthlessly. "He practically is."

Spain wasn't giving up. "I like your voice."

"Then you should've recorded it."

"Why would I do that?" Spain asked innocently, fingers dancing up Lovino's arm. "When I have the real thing right here?"

Lovino tried to shy away from the fingers. "I said not to touch the driver!"

Spain laughed lightly. "You know, if _I_ were driving, you could touch me all you wanted…"

"Shut _up_," Lovino hissed, eyes widening. This was not a good conversation to be having right now. It may lead to certain thoughts that were not beneficial while driving a moving vehicle.

Spain didn't say anything, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. A slow song was playing, some sappy thing that highschoolers danced to in gymnasiums. Lovino considered changing it, but for the first time since they'd met back up Spain wasn't blathering on about something or other so he decided to let it play out. It really was horrible, though.

Before heading off they'd bought a map in some convenience store, and it had been open in Lovino's lap the whole way. He glanced down at it, looking for the road they were on. It was still fairly large, but in the next hour or so they'd be going off onto smaller roads, leaving the highways behind. Lovino was used to that kind of thing. After years of navigating places like Rome confusing streets were nothing.

"Lovi…" Spain said suddenly, eyebrows furrowed. Lovino looked up at him curiously. "Do you like this song?"

"Not really," Lovino said simply. "I thought you did."

"Well, you were being so quiet I thought you were listening."

Lovino didn't answer. He wasn't really up for another argument right now. He was too relaxed. "Whatever."

Another few minutes passed in silence, and Lovino couldn't help but notice that Spain looked a little uncomfortable. He didn't say anything, waiting for the other man to say what was on his mind.

"Um…Lovi?"

Lovino sighed. "What?"

"Can we stop soon? You know…"

Oh. Lovino nodded, glancing up at the sign for the next exit and a rest stop. He _was_ kind of thirsty, and maybe he could grab something to eat while Spain was doing his business. This was what he spent most of his time thinking about—trying to find ways to explain his presence in places he'd otherwise rather not be. It was like he needed some alibi in case he was accused of…of what? Of trespassing? Of being an idiot? Probably the latter.

He found the exit and turned into it, Spain looking for too excited for his own good.

…

Lovino stared at the large glass cases in the wall, each filled with bottle after bottle of this drink or that. He opened one of the doors, pulling out some iced tea thing he would probably be able to stand. Whatever.

He had been given the mission of finding a bag of cheese popcorn for Spain while he was in the bathroom, and while he really didn't want to he set upon doing that. It was easy enough. He snatched a bag off of a shelf, tucking it under his arm. Then a bag of Chex Mix. Just because.

He got in the short line to the checkout counter, sighing sharply as he looked around. The guy in front of him was holding a six-pack of cheap beer, and the guy in front of that was getting some cigarettes from behind the counter. Lovino felt kind of like a kid standing in the back, with his tea and popcorn and party mix.

It was boring as hell standing there, so he started to look around. Eventually the man in front got his cigarettes and left, and beer-guy stepped up to the counter. Ugh. How long could this _take_? And where was Spain?

Beer-guy started talking loudly to the cashier and Lovino groaned. The bells on the door jingled, and there were some heavy footsteps. Lovino barely noticed them until the shouting started.

"Everybody get down!"

Lovino froze, whirling around with everyone else. Two guys were standing there, and each one was holding a handgun. He blinked, eyes wide. What…?

"We said get _down!_"

The taller guy lifted his gun and fired a single shot into the ceiling. As the sound ricocheted through the store, nearly deafening, everyone sprang into motion. Lovino dropped, memories of mafia dons and gunfights flashing through his mind. Beer-guy hit the ground hard, and he looked like he was about to shit his pants. Lovino swallowed thickly, hands coming up behind his head. He stared at the ground as the footsteps tapped along beside him. There was some low muttering to the cashier, and a _ching_ noise as the cash register shot open.

A robbery. The cashier seemed to be a bit less than enthusiastic about the whole situation, and Lovino could hear him arguing. _Stop it,_ he thought frantically. _Don't piss off the guy with the gun_.

"Just give us the goddamn money," one of the robbers said loudly. Lovino thought of Spain. He better stay in the fucking bathroom. His heart was pounding as there was a thud on the counter. The handle of a gun. The two guys were getting impatient.

"You don't want us to cause a scene, do you?" the other robber asked quietly, voice full of sweet menace. Lovino wondered if he'd be able to crawl over behind a shelf or something before they noticed.

He didn't really have a chance to do anything, though, because a second later he felt a hand close around his collar. He grunted as he was yanked up to his feet, nearly choking in the process. Adrenaline started to kick in as he felt something cold and hard press against his temple. Oh _shit_.

It wasn't like he'd never had a gun pointed at him before. That was old hat, but never had he been just a civilian at the time. In war he was armed too, so for some reason it was better. Now, with the hard metal brushing his ear he had no idea what to do.

"Get down!" the guy who wasn't holding Lovino shouted at the cashier. He looked pretty messed up, eyes bloodshot and hollow and arms scarred. A junkie in the worst sense. The cashier, the fucking dumbass, wasn't moving. Did he think he could take two guys with guns by himself? He better be a fucking Superman.

There was a slow click of a door, and Lovino's eyes flicked over to the bathrooms. He could barely see Spain's head peeking through the gap, but there was no mistaking the expression on his face as he took in the scene.

Lovino tried to shake his head, but the guy holding him had a gun and he didn't want to move more than possible. One arm was under his neck, too, pressing him into the guy's chest. "_No_," he mouthed silently at Spain as the older man crept out of the restroom. His eyes were wide, and he looked like he had when he'd seen the bruises.

"Hey! You get down too!"

The guy at the counter diverted his attention to Spain for a moment, aiming the pistol at him. Spain didn't move. Lovino mentally cursed him and his stupidity. The grip around his neck tightened, and he coughed.

"Let him go," Spain said slowly. _No, dammit. Don't let them know you know me._ Shit. Lovino was shoved forward onto his back, hitting the ground hard. His head hit the floor, sending a burst of pain up all the way to his jaw. A boot was planted heavily on his stomach, and as he opened his eyes he was faced with the barrel of a gun. Dammit.

"Get on the ground or I'm pulling the trigger," the guy standing over Lovino yelled. Spain took a step forward. Lovino's eyes widened. Spain didn't want him to get shot, did he?

"Let him go," Spain said again, but this time the words were sharper, more authoritative. Lovino caught his eye for a moment, but only for that moment. Then Spain took another step forward, hands balling into fists.

"Shit, you some kind of retard?" the guy kept his gun trained on Lovino as he stepped over him, feet planted on either side of Lovino's torso. There was no way the Italian man could escape now. "Get on the fucking ground."

"Come on, man. I got the money," the other guy said, holding a shopping back full of what looked to be loose bills and coins. "Don't kill 'im."

"Fucktard over there's gonna call the cops or something." And then to Spain. "_Get down_!"

Spain's eyes were dangerous. That was the only way to describe it. Murderous. "I'll do that once you let him go," he said, voice almost too low to hear.

Jesus Christ. "Antonio! It's not fucking important! Just—" Lovino was cut off as a boot hit the side of his head. The world went black for a moment, and he was silent. The pain shot straight through his head, blocking out the whole world.

Vaguely, as though it was an echo, he heard some thuds and a gunshot. The sound from the blast leaped through his head, bouncing around in his skull and making his ears ring. Everything was still black and gray, colorless, like white noise around the edges. He rolled onto his side, curling up as the world came into focus once more. The boots inhibiting his movement were gone.

"Never, never, _NEVER again!" _

It was Spain's voice. Lovino's gaze shot up to the counter. There was one of the gunmen, his head and shoulders pressed down flat against the surface by Spain's hand. Spain was holding the gun. Lovino had no idea where the other guy was.

"Okay! Okay! Just let me go!" The guy was kicking, but Spain was at an angle that could not be reached by the man's flailing. He held the gun to the man's forehead, slamming him back against the counter.

"_NEVER_ _touch my Lovi again_."

Lovino couldn't move. He sat there, transfixed. His mind was blank, there were no thoughts he could form on his own. Spain didn't notice him.

"Fine! I won't touch him! Jesus!" the man cried out as Spain flung him to the side, gun still aimed at his head. The man looked absolutely terrified. _He should be_, Lovino thought vaguely. Anyone would be.

"Call the police," Spain said coldly, probably to the cashier. The man shot up from behind the counter, nodding frantically as he picked up the phone there and punched in some numbers. Lovino saw some boots from behind a shelf and he took a shuddering breath. Spain then turned to him, and immediately the change came over him. He smiled happily, rushing forward to wrap the smaller man in a hug.

Lovino still couldn't say anything. He was still a bit dazed, and confused…and…and what? He stared over at the guy who had been pointing the gun at him before, who was back up.

"Fucking fags…" he muttered, eyes still wide. Spain's head snapped up, and his eyes were cold again. He stood up, striding over to the man on the floor. In one smooth movement the back of his hand collided with the guy's face and he fell to the side. Another kick to the gut and he was silent. Spain then turned back to Lovino.

"Sorry," he said, sounding truly apologetic. He crouched down in front of the other man, who was finally gaining his bearings.

"Shit…Spain…" there wasn't much else to say. Lovino looked over at the boots obscured by the shelf. "Is he dead?"

"No, no," Spain assured him, dropping the gun. He was a bit out of breath, but that was…understandable. Lovino suddenly felt like crap. What had he done besides go all damsel-in-distress? He sighed with a shudder.

Spain's hand came to brush back the younger man's bangs and he smiled lightly. "Are you okay?"

Lovino nodded, starting to stand up. As he did he heard a crunch. Surprised, he shifted, revealing a very much crushed black bag.

Spain's eyes lit up. "You got my popcorn!" he said happily, grinning. When Lovino didn't say anything Spain started to look kind of worried. "Are you mad at me?"

Lovino shrugged. "No. Not really. Just…" he looked down, "…just why?"

"He was pointing a gun at you. What else could I do?"

"I dunno…" Just thinking about the fact that Spain had done all that…had single-handedly beat the crap out of two guys…with guns…it made Lovino realize how much he wasn't worth it. What did he have? He had nothing to give Spain in return besides a "thank you" or something equally lame. He had nothing to offer. "You didn't have to." Like that would make him feel better.

"I did," Spain said, offering a kind smile. He pulled Lovino into another hug. "It's okay," he said softly.

"Yeah," Lovino said, trying to sound like it wasn't bothering him. But it was. This whole situation. It was just…he just felt like crap, and it definitely wasn't because of his headache.

He couldn't be mad at Spain now, could he? There was no way he could call Spain a bastard now, or belittle what had happened. Because Spain may have just saved him from a shitload of pain, and now he was just acting all oblivious again…the image of Spain holding the man down to the checkout counter with the gun in his hand was still prevalent in Lovino's mind.

Spain helped Lovino to his feet, and that didn't help matters any. So he couldn't even get up on his own? Jesus, Spain was probably going to offer to drive now. Because Lovino didn't look up to it. Dammit.

"Let's go," Lovino said. They needed to get out of there before the cops came to question them and they lost more time. Spain nodded, looping his arm around Lovino's waist. He pulled the smaller man close, into another hug. This one was closer, though, and Lovino buried his face into Spain's chest. The cashier was sitting on his stool, clutching the phone to his ear, mumbling.

When they released, Spain was smiling again. Lovino looked down, starting out toward the car again. Maybe if he just didn't say anything for a while this feeling would pass. Maybe. He really hoped it would, because he didn't enjoy feeling useless.

They got into the car silently, and as they sat down Spain put something in the cup holder between them. The iced tea. Holy shit. The fucking _iced tea_.

Lovino blinked, staring at it for a moment. Beyond his control he started to giggle, the absurdity of it all hitting him. So Spain beat the shit out of two armed robbers to save his boyfriend and a bottle of cheap iced tea. He started laughing, a bit louder, and Spain looked at him curiously.

Boyfriend. Lovino had just thought of Spain as his boyfriend. He grinned, looking up at the older man, who was very much confused. Then he leaned over, wrapping his arms around Spain's neck and pulling him into a kiss. Spain didn't object, hands finding their way to Lovino's back. They stayed that way for a moment, the deep kiss washing over the both of them.

Lovino was the one to break it, leaning back just far enough to whisper the word, "Ass."

Spain stared at him for a moment before returning the grin. Then he let their lips touch again, and Lovino sighed into the kiss. Lips worked lazily against each other, sweeping Lovino out of his head. Spain. He couldn't get over that. Spain was kissing him, Spain cared enough about him to…to save the fucking iced tea. Shit. It was so ridiculous and so much like _Spain_.

Spain pulled Lovino closer, eyes sparkling. Lovino stared up at him for a moment, breathing a bit more heavily than before. Then, in some unspoken agreement he shifted back into his seat, putting the key in the ignition. He pulled out of the parking lot of the rest stop, turning to drive down the road away from the highway. The area was very heavily wooded and the streets weren't very popular or well-used. Spain's hand rested on his knee as he drove. After a few minutes of searching Lovino found a pulloff that was fairly secluded. He parked the car, hands still gripping the wheel.

A second later he and Spain were kissing again, but this time it was…more. More meaningful, more passionate…but those words didn't seem to fit. It just _was_, and what it was was _more_. Than anything else.

Soon Lovino was sitting in Spain's lap, straddling his hips. His arms were wrapped around the older man's neck, fingers working through his hair. Spain's hands danced across his skin, sliding up his shirt and lightly dragging nails over his ribs and chest. Lovino sucked in a sharp breath as fingers ghosted over one of his nipples. He let his head fall to where Spain's neck met his shoulder, planting light kisses along his collarbone and up to his ear.

The noises Spain was making were beautiful. Every gasp, every moan, every moment that Lovino's fingers ran down his stomach or tongue slid across his neck was absolutely perfect, and Lovino couldn't get enough of it. He let the images of guns and violence slip from his mind as he unbuttoned Spain's shirt and let his hands explore inside.

When he was finished Spain lifted Lovino's shirt over his head, being careful to mind the bruises this time. Lips clashed and Lovino ground down on Spain's hips, both of them groaning. The heat in the car was becoming unbearable, and as Spain's hands searched Lovino's body the heat in other places became even worse.

In hindsight they were just sitting in a car, making out like horny teenagers, but Lovino didn't care. What he cared about was that this was perfect, it was what he'd been wanting for _so goddamn long_ and that it was Spain. Spain was overwhelming and wonderful and everything he would ever need. He'd never say it; he'd never even allude to it, but for the moment all thoughts of the war, of England, of France…of anything but the instant were erased.

When they broke apart he stared into Spain's eyes. Fuck, it was corny and girly, but what else was there to do?

"_Te amo_," Spain said softly, and Lovino's eyes widened. Love…love...his brain wasn't working right. Did Spain just say he loved him? Really? What…

"_Anch'io ti amo_," Lovino whispered, not even sure what words were coming out. He was wrapped into a hug and he stayed there for a moment, letting himself relax. He sighed lightly. How fucked up was all this? And now he must have hit some tipping point, some second at which he just accepted that life was going to be a bitch right now. He had to get the best out of it, and if the best meant making out with Spain in a car after stopping a convenience store robbery on the way to go stop a fucking _war_ then so be it.

Spain grinned, letting his head fall back. Lovino shifted, his foot accidentally hitting the button for the radio. Immediately a woman's voice filled the car.

"_…meeting in New York the United States Government deemed the actions of the northern Spanish extremist groups a direct violation of the UN's peacekeeping efforts and have decided to issue a declaration of war against these terrorist factions in order to…_"

Lovino froze, listening intently to the radio.

So…so America was going to…? He looked up at Spain, whose eyes were wide. The news then went on to recount the terrorist attacks on France, but the damage had been done.

"He's going to fight you," Lovino said numbly. Spain didn't move. "Bastard's gonna fight you."

Spain didn't say anything at first. Lovino blinked, looking back to the radio.

"Why? Why the hell would he-?"

"I'm sorry, Lovi."

"Dammit, don't start apologizing again! America's going to...ah, fuck!" Lovino slammed his hands into the car seat, grating his teeth. Dammit.

"I'll be okay. It's not like he's starting a war."

"A week. Tea-bastard said a week."

England had said a week. A whole fucking _seven days_. The goddamn liar.

"I know..." Spain looked a bit lost, like he didn't really understand what was happening.

Suddenly, Lovino climbed back into the driver's seat. Stretching the folded map across his lap again, he started the car. "We're going to go kick America's ass."

Spain blinked. "What?"

"Just put your shirt back on."

And they were off.

...

_So...yeah._

_Just a note: America isn't starting a war. He's just saying that he's going after those terrorist groups (*cough* Evilspain *cough*), not that he's starting a war. It's still kind of crappy for Lovi and Spain, though, because America's still not too happy with them. _

_*dies*_

_You should be able to guess what the other languages are, but in case you can't..._

_Spanish: Spain says "I love you"_

_Italian: Lovi says "I love you, too" and "What?"_

_That's it. Sorry if the ending was rushed. Review anyway! Please? I need love! *burst into tears*_


	10. Nukes

_I think I'll just let this chapter speak for itself._

...

"...and so then I didn't know _cosa fare_, and I couldn't just go back to my room _senza pantaloni_, right? It was embarrassing, and I thought I was gonna have to grab a towel but there were none left! So I saw the pants _di fratello_ and I didn't think-" a sip of hot chocolate "-so I put them on and left but I didn't know that he was coming back for them. So I said to myself that I was going to put them back if he wanted them but then I forgot. So then _più tarde_.."

Germany sighed lightly as he listened to Feliciano speak. The Italian man had been worrying himself sick over Romano and apparently his method of coping involved lots of funny stories about his brother. As he had descended farther and farther into his hysteria he'd also started to switch to Italian, and while they had been allies many times Germany didn't know a word. So he sat there, in Feliciano's hotel room, doing his best to lend a sympathetic ear.

"...and did I tell you about the time when _fratello ed io_ were going _al negozio, e un uomo con un cane voleva comprare la nostra casa_...?"

"_Italia_," Germany said lightly, cutting the smaller man off. He looked up at Germany with wide, watery eyes.

Immediately the taller man lost his train of thought. Those eyes...they were so vulnerable and pleading, but still so warm and...and friendly. They were innocent; that's what they were, so unbecoming of a country. And yet somehow he couldn't imagine the young man any other way. He stared down at Feliciano for a second before trying to regain his composure.

He cleared his throat. "I know you're worried about Romano..."

Feliciano scrunched up his nose as his eyes filled with tears again. Germany's eyes widened, and he held up his hands.

"But! But he'll be fine! He can take care of himself, right?"

Feliciano seemed to think about this for a moment before he nodded. "I suppose..."

"So there's no use crying," Germany said firmly, placing his hand on Feliciano's shoulder. His words were forceful but his eyes were soft. "What your brother is doing is very important. You should be proud."

Germany wasn't sure he'd ever had cause to say anything like that about the southern portion of Italy before, but it wasn't entirely untrue. Romano had taken on the task of stopping a war, and that was definitely no small task, especially when it came to Spain. Because every so often Spain would fall into a funk, a series of violent mood swings that led him to do things he wasn't proud of later. Or, at least Germany hoped he wasn't proud of them.

"But...what if _fratello_ gets hurt? Or what if Spain kills him? Or what if they're kidnapped? Or what if he doesn't make it in time and England starts a war and Lovi allies with Spain and then I have to stay with them and you join the other side and we have to fight each other?" Feliciano's eyes got wider with every word, and he clung desperately to the too-long sleeves of his sweatshirt.

Germany opened his mouth as if to say something but nothing came out. His eyes ran over Feliciano's face as he struggled to find some kind of answer, some reassurance that would stop the smaller man from crying. He sighed, closing his mouth again.

There was a moment of heavy silence before Feliciano spoke again, sniffling quietly. "_Ve...Germania_?"

"Hm?"

"I know you get uncomfortable and you don't like it, and that I'm probably annoying you a lot but...can I hug you?"

Germany paused, his mind processing the request. Then, very slowly, he nodded.

A moment later Feliciano dived for him, wrapping his thin arms around the larger man's torso and burying his face in Germany's chest. Germany blinked, unsure of what to do. Feliciano was shaking, his grip tight.

Carefully, Germany brought his arms down. One draped over Feliciano's waist, the other sitting higher, up by his shoulders. They stayed that way for a moment, and Germany swallowed thickly.

Feliciano was so small and delicate, and now he was crying. Germany could feel the silent shudders against his chest, and suddenly he was overwhelmed by the urge to...to _what? _To protect, to help...to...to...he didn't have a word. He wanted Feliciano to stop crying, to smile; he wanted to be able to say that Romano would be back fine, and in no time at all. He didn't know where this was all coming from, but he wanted for Feliciano to be able to rely on him, not only for military power but for...well, not emotional problems...for guidance? For...for everything.

He pulled Feliciano closer, finally completing the embrace. His hand came up to cradle the back of the smaller man's head. His hair was soft and smooth, and without thinking Germany started running his fingers through it lightly. Feliciano shifted forward, and to Germany's surprise he settled himself in the taller man's lap. His arms moved up to wrap around the German man's neck, head resting in the crook of his shoulder.

Under any other circumstances those actions would have caused Germany to flush red and pull away, but for some reason he couldn't. He closed his eyes, sighing, and they stayed that way for a while. After a long time Feliciano stopped shaking.

…

"Oh God-_fucking-_dammit, Spain, get your feet _off_ the dashboard!"

Lovino gripped the wheel of the car tightly, glaring angrily at the road. Spain didn't move, his feet lazily crossed as he propped them up just under the windshield. His arms were tucked behind his head, and his eyes were fluttering closed. Lovino growled.

His arm shot out, slapping Spain's stomach with the back of his hand. Spain's eyes shot open, and he coughed out a surprised shout as his arms came down to protect his stomach. He leaned forward, eyes wide and confused as he stared at Lovino.

"Don't look at me like that," Lovino reprimanded sharply. "Feet. Down."

"I think you're getting stressed, _mi Lovi_. Maybe you need a break..."

"Or maybe not," Lovino snapped. Spain's eyebrows shot up.

"I take a little nap and now you're like this?"

"I'm _always_ like this, bastard."

Spain smiled lightly. "A few hours ago you weren't. I want to kiss you again, Lovi..."

"Yeah, well..." Lovino couldn't actually force himself to disagree. Don't say he didn't fucking want to, though. Disagreeing with Spain was one of his hobbies.

"And here I thought we had a real moment."

Lovino sighed. "Think whatever the hell you want."

Spain lifted his feet from the dashboard, dropping them down into a normal sitting position. Lovino nodded in approval.

"Where are we?" Spain asked after a particularly large yawn.

"Dunno. Small towns. Surprised they're even on the map."

They were on...well, they _had_ been on a highway, some number in the 300s. Now it had led into a tiny village, one that barely looked like it held more than three or four residents on a good day. It was pretty, though, he'd give it that. Lots of nice trees and old buildings and stuff.

There were quite a few houses, and then it opened up into what he guessed was the business center. Not that it even was that, seeing as it consisted primarily of a gas station and a post office. As far as Lovino could see that was it. Oh well. He was more of the city type anyway. Out here there wasn't shit to do.

Soon they were out of the little hamlet, though, and back on some smaller roads. The address had pointed to somewhere around here, or according to the map within a half hour or so. It was getting late, and the sun had just barely set. Lovino reached over, picking up the bottle of iced tea. As they had started driving again he'd taken a drink from it, but it was very unsuccessful through the bouts of uncharacteristic laughter. Now the joke had died down. The tea was really kind of shitty but he drank it anyway.

"I'd like to live in a place like this," Spain said passively, sighing. Lovino blinked, looking around. There were trees, trees, more trees, a river and trees. Nowhere to live as far as he was concerned.

"The only things out here are rednecks and bears," Lovino muttered. Spain hummed lightly.

"And forests. And farms. Villages are so nice and close-knit. A good place to settle down, maybe retire."

"Fat chance of that ever happening. It's not like we have day jobs."

"Would you want to?"

Lovino blinked. "Huh?"

"If you could? Get a house in the country, start a family, a simple job. It sounds nice."

"I like being Italy, thank-you-very-much." Lovino clenched his teeth, wondering why the hell the tomato-bastard had to get all sentimental _now_ of all times.

"I know. I just like to think."

"Then how 'bout you start thinking about how the hell you're gonna stop America from kicking your ass?"

Spain sighed. "True."

They were silent again, and Lovino was mentally berating himself for being such shit at conversation. A few days ago he'd be excited—no, fucking _ecstatic_, if Spain so much as told him about the goddamn weather. Now he was acting like...well, like Spain was anyone else. Which he wasn't. He definitely wasn't, and Lovino had come to terms with that a long time ago.

So, taking a deep breath, he made a conscious decision to try and keep a steady conversation going. No insults. Well, minimal insults. Maybe...maybe a compliment? But only if it came up. He swallowed, eyes scanning the road. This was hard.

"So, uh...Spain..." he started, not sure of what to say. Spain was looking out the window too, a very contemplative look on his face.

"You should call me Antonio," he said lightly.

Lovino felt a familiar twist in his stomach. "Why would I do that?" he asked, but it wasn't as malicious as he intended.

"You did in the store."

Oh. Right. "Well...well, that was just because people were around. You know."

"I know. You should still call me by my name. My _real_ name."

"Why should I?" But Lovino wanted to. For the first time in days his chest started getting heavy, that thickness that dulled his perception of everything except for Spain.

"It sounds beautiful when you say it," Spain answered nonchalantly, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. Lovino sucked in a breath.

"Don't say 'beautiful.'"

"_Tu voz es como música...tus ojos son más hermosos que las estrellas...todo el mundo está celoso de tu sonrisa..._" Spain said breathlessly, adding on each new phrase as though reciting a poem. He glanced over from the window to watch Lovino as he drove.

The Italian man, meanwhile, was becoming more and more aware of an unsettling feeling in his stomach...no, not goddamn butterflies...dammit...and his face definitely wasn't starting to tinge pink...and he honestly didn't care what the hell Spain was saying...he really didn't. He wasn't starting to breathe a little faster...and his heart wasn't jumping, and...

"I saw you watching me in the meetings, Lovi. I tried to look my best for you," Spain said quietly. Immediately Lovino's eyes went wide and his grip on the wheel tightened.

"Don't know what the hell you're talking about," Lovino forced out.

"_No me importa. Il mio amore..._"

Lovino had no idea what Spain was trying to do, but whatever it was it was working. He gave a shuddering sigh, glancing down at the map. "We're almost there."

Spain nodded, still looking as though he was off in his own world. "Then we can get this over with. When we're done..." he trailed off, sound deep in thought.

Lovino waited for him to finish, but he didn't. The Italian man grumbled, not wanting to ask but having to anyway. "When we're done _what_?"

"I'm going to take you out on a date. A real date."

Lovino nearly choked. "_What_? A date...what the hell makes you think I'd want to go on a _date_?"

"You're blushing."

"No I'm not!" Lovino sputtered, scowling even more intently at the road. "It's too fucking hot in here…" he muttered, reaching for the air conditioning. Spain caught his hand halfway, holding it lightly. Lovino bit his lip nervously but he didn't pull away. Spain's thumb started to rub circles into the back of Lovino's hand.

"Lovi? Will you go on a date with me?"

Goddammit, Spain. Why did he have to be so forward? Lovino sighed. "_God_. Fine. Okay. Just don't call it a date, got it?"

"But I know you're always such a sucker for those romantic things," Spain said happily. "I can get you flowers, a candlelit dinner in a nice restaurant, we can wear nice clothes…"

It sounded…ah, fuck it. It sounded great. Lovino nodded and Spain manipulated his hand so their fingers entwined. Lovino glanced down at their linked hands for a moment before letting a little bit of a smile—but just a little bit, you damn bastards—find its way onto his face. They were now driving through some more forest, perched on the side of one of the many hills that dotted the land. It was quite dark now. America's house would be coming up very soon, the map said. Lovino could only be relieved.

And as it came into view he wasn't disappointed. They saw it appear from behind the trees piece by piece, starting with the huge wrap-around porch. That led to the first floor, then the second, then the third…and Lovino could have sworn there was an attic above that. A huge lawn fell in a sheet down the hill, with a driveway leading up to the house that was encased by trees. A fountain sat in the center of the perfectly trimmed grass, and because of the slope it had been built on an angle, letting the water fall from rocks that looked far too natural to a stone-lined pool at its base.

Lovino swore his jaw dropped, and Spain's did too. He slowed down at the driveway, not sure if he should actually go up. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that this was one of America's houses…but _shit _it was big. And really, were the horses necessary? He took a deep breath as they started up the perfectly paved driveway. *

It was so goddamn long, and that just added to Lovino's anxiety. In all truth he had no idea what he would say to England and America, or what he could say, or how he would bitch them out (because that's exactly what he was planning to do) or what Spain would say. He didn't know how to talk to any of those stupid countries.

They came up to the flat area where the house was built to see three other cars parked there. One was short and squat, an ugly gray-green color. The second was much more stylish, a sleek black convertible. The last was a huge red truck. With wheels larger than Lovino's body. And some kind of huge box in the back. Lovino was fairly sure he could guess which one was America's. Idiot.

As he pulled up by the other cars, he heard Spain shuffling in his seat. "Are you sure this is it?"

"No, this is the _other_ fucking gigantic mansion in the woods."

"Oh."

Lovino sighed, getting out of the car. He didn't even know where the hell the front door was. Spain was looking very excited, but that was expected. He hadn't really been around for most of the crappy war-starting stuff so Lovino wasn't sure this had settled in entirely. Whatever. Lovino was planning on doing all the talking anyway.

"Thank _God!_"

Lovino and Spain both looked up to see a door on the side of the porch opening. England came out, hurrying down the steps and toward the two standing by the car. His face was a bit red, and he looked as though he'd just come down from a heated argument, judging by his balled fists and dark scowl.

"You two certainly took your sweet time getting here! America and Canada just left! How do you expect to get _any _of this sorted out if we can't even have one decent discussion! I've half a mind to—"

"Shut up, bastard."

England stopped mid-tirade, mouth open. He stared a Lovino in shock for a second before composing himself and proceeding to glare angrily at the young man. "Don't say that to me."

"I think I can say whatever the hell I want," Lovino spat, "You didn't even wait the fucking _week_, asshole."

England looked lost for a moment before a look of cold realization swept across his face. "So you don't know."

"Don't know what?" Spain spoke this time, his voice much softer and smoother than Lovino's. England frowned.

"Well, I'll assure you that we had nothing to do with America's stupid, _stupid_ decision."

Lovino opened his mouth as if to say something but he couldn't form words. Spain spoke instead. "We?"

England nodded, turning back toward the house. "Francis, they're here!" he called, looking none too pleased to be doing so. A few moments later, France's head poked out of the door.

When he saw Spain his face completely changed. He came out of the house, and immediately Lovino could see the bandages over his shoulder. He looked like he was fairly recovered already, though, and he didn't seem to be in much pain. Not that Lovino cared whether he was in pain or not.

As he approached, Spain started to look very uncomfortable. He looked down, hands fidgeting in front of his stomach. Lovino looked at France uncertainly. He and Spain mustn't have had any contact after the shooting. This would be interesting.

"I'm sorry," Spain said immediately, barely meeting France's gaze. England rolled his eyes.

"Yes, yes, he forgives you, la di la; we have more important matters to be discussing."

Spain's eyes brightened. "You forgive me?"

France shrugged, though it looked a bit painful. "I will heal. And I know that was not you, _mon Antoine_." Spain didn't look so sure. "We shall talk of this later, _oui?_"

France was looking very solemn, and Spain sighed. "_Sí."_

"And anyway, I want to hear all about your exploits with our little Romano here…"

Spain grinned, but Lovino could see that he was feeling very bad about the whole situation. He couldn't blame him. France, however, was looking rather as he always did, that frivolous smile licking at the corners of his lips. Ugh. There was the France Lovino knew and hated.

"So, what about America being an idiot?" Lovino interjected, raising his eyebrows. England nodded firmly, giving Spain and France a look.

"I'm sure you've heard about his anti-terrorism campaign, right?"

"Is he starting a war or not?"

England opened his mouth to answer but France beat him to it. "How about we continue this inside?" he offered hopefully. England glared at him.

"Don't interrupt me, you damn frog. And yes, let's go inside." Without further direction he turned on his heel and strode over to the steps leading up the porch. "I'll make tea."

Lovino grimaced at the thought but he didn't say anything. At this point it would only be counterproductive to pick a fight with England, especially now that he had something to say that was of interest to Lovino. They all followed the shorter nation into America's house, although Lovino did feel kind of awkward being there without the aforementioned nation. Not that he was pining to see the hamburger-bastard or anything. It was just kind of weird, you know?

"Sit," England instructed, pointing to some chairs in the room they entered. The room was huge, with a massive television stuck on the wall and what looked remarkably like a dance floor, but nobody seemed to be paying it any mind. America really was an idiot, and a filthy-goddamn-rich one too.

Lovino sat down next to Spain on the loveseat, and he told himself multiple times that he didn't see France's eyes flash when he did. Fucking France. It felt good to say that again in his head, after that space of awkward time where he wasn't sure it was cool. Damn wine-bastard hadn't changed a bit.

England came out of an adjacent room just moments later, carrying a silver tea tray as carefully as possible. It definitely didn't look like the kind of thing America would carry around with him, so Lovino was fairly sure that England had brought it himself. He probably carried it around with him, just in case.

As he started to pour each person their own cup he began speaking.

"America is not, as far as I am aware, going to start a war. He _is_, however, going to launch a new force to fight the terrorism that Spain, here—" he gestured to the man in question, "—has so loving decided to initiate. Now, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of giving me some spiel about how it wasn't his fault but that is not what is in question here."

Lovino bit back some kind of rude remark, and Spain just blinked.

England sat down, taking his own cup of tea. "We tried talking with America, but he seems quite convinced that Spain is planning some kind of attack on the United States. That isn't the case, is it?" His voice held a warning.

"Of course not!" Spain looked shocked that England would even suggest it. "Why would I do that?"

"I have no bloody idea," England said irritably. "But you know _America_ and once he gets an idea in his head a flaming bulldozer couldn't get it out." He took a dainty sip of the tea before continuing. "Somehow he's managed to rope Canada into this, the poor lad. America's being entirely insolent and he needs to understand that that is not the appropriate response."

"We believe if you can talk to _Amérique_ you can explain this."

"I really didn't want this all to happen," Spain said sadly. "It's my fault."

Lovino glared at him. "Good. 'Cause if you planned all this I'd kick your ass," he muttered.

"Look, I do not hold a grudge. What is done is done. We have other things to worry about," France said, and for the first time in his life Lovino may have agreed with him.

"If you just have a chat with him he'll come around. He isn't completely insufferable, I've found. He just needs to understand that in this case war is _not_ an option."

"Sure. Whatever. Where is he?" Lovino looked gestured around the room.

England's lip twitched. "He left. With Canada." Lovino could have sworn he heard a mumbled "wanker" after that but he couldn't be sure. "He'll be back. It was just a tantrum."

"So are we just gonna stay here until he gets back?"

"That would be preferable."

"Okay," Lovino suddenly stood up, arms crossed. "I need a bedroom."

Immediately he realized how his words had been taken. Or, rather, France's lewd snickers showed him. He made a noise of annoyance. "I _mean_ I'm fucking exhausted and it's late."

Even more snickering. Lovino kicked France in the shin and the older man stopped laughing. "Driving must have been _so_ tiring," France agreed, that goddamn smile still on his face. "Unless that was not all you were doing…"

"Fuck you," Lovino hissed. "I just need a little sleep and I don't trust any of you." At this Spain looked kind of hurt. "Whatever. I'll find it myself."

"Romano, wait," England sighed sharply. "We'll need you here when America returns. It won't be long, trust me."

"Then I'll take a nap."

"Really, it'll only be a few minutes. He just needed to settle down for a moment."

"And I'll just lie _down_ for a fucking _moment_."

"Lovi, you can lean on me if you want…"

"Ah, you should, _mon Roman. _Antoine is quite comfortable…"

"Everyone quiet!"

England was looking quite irritated. "I thought I heard an engine. Listen."

The room was silent for a few moments before the faint sound of distant footsteps came to meet everyone's ears. There were some muffled voices but they were quiet too. Lovino stared at the door, not sure if he should sit back down or not.

"Artie! Who you got in there?"

America's voice was a surprise, and England nearly dropped his tea. "Spain and South Italy, you git! Now get in here so we can have a civilized conversation!"

America burst through the door, looking none too pleased with those inside. He was followed by another young man who looked remarkably similar…England had said his name but Lovino honestly couldn't remember. It didn't matter, though, because America started talking again.

"Finally! Geez, what took you so long?" He slid his arms out of his ancient bomber jacket and to Lovino's surprise he hung it up on a coatrack by the door. "I just got some stuff for you to sign and then everything'll be all cool, okay?"

Spain blinked, looking rather as though someone had tried to punch him. "What do you mean 'sign?'"

"Just some stuff so you don't go all crazy and do weird shit again. 'Cause we got enough of that back at the meeting, ya know?" He was laughing and Spain was looking more and more perturbed by the second. "Hey, hey. Chill. All I wanna do is put up a _couple_ little bases just in case…"

"America, you aren't _seriously_ going to try and sell this one to _them_, are you? It didn't work on us so—"

"Wait a minute," Lovino snapped, "You aren't fucking_ serious_, are you?"

"It's not a big deal. I mean, it's just a couple guys here and there makin' sure Spain doesn't go all psycho and kill someone. Just to be safe, ya know?"

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but last time I checked you didn't really have anything to do with this, _ya know_?" Lovino was getting kind of pissed off and the last part came out just as mockingly as he'd intended.

"Look, unless Spain's planning on doing something like that again he should be fine with it, right? Of course, he could be on the bad side. Which is it?"

America's arms were crossed in front of his chest, and he was giving Lovino a look that made his skin crawl. It was so goddamn superior and like…like some little kid who didn't know who the fuck he was dealing with. Spain seemed to be expressing the same sentiments, but unlike Lovino he tried to smile.

"I suppose," he said lightly. "If it's only for a little while." Lovino looked at him incredulously. What?

"Hey, he's not going to do _anything_," Lovino promised, eyes dark. America wasn't going to get away with fucking around in Spain like he owned the place. No more military bases, at least not on Lovino's watch.

"You don't really have anything to do with this, do you?" America asked in that same stuck-up tone of voice. Lovino was seething.

"Lovi, calm down. It's okay…"

"Yeah," America agreed. Lovino was about to give Spain a few choice words when America cut him off. "Anyway, you pretty much caused this whole thing so you should probably leave it alone." With this he pulled a hamburger from his bomber pocket, unwrapping it.

Spain froze. Lovino opened his mouth to start bitching America out but was stopped mid-sound.

"What did you say?"

Immediately all eyes snapped to Spain. He was staring down at his knees, but there was no mistaking his balled-up fists. Shit. Not again.

"Spain…don't." Lovino didn't know what else to say. "He's not worth it."

America started laughing through an obscenely large bite of hamburger. "Dude, he got you _whipped_."

"America, I think you should leave," England said, regarding Spain warily.

"Why? It's my house."

"Come on," a tiny voice said. Lovino watched as the young man he'd seen follow America in tugged at his arm. Lovino had forgotten he was standing there.

"What the hell? It was just a joke." He turned to Spain. "Sorry, dude."

Lovino saw Spain relax a little. Good. So maybe he wouldn't flip over this like he had before. Now they just had to find a way to shut America up so he didn't do anything else stupid. Lovino scowled at the younger nation.

"He's not gonna sign anything."

"Terrorism is deep shit," America said, "We gotta do something about it."

"It was a freak thing. Leave it the hell _alone_."

"Would you let him talk? Geez, you're suffocating him," America said, eyebrows raised. With another bite he finished the hamburger, balling up the wrapper in his fist.

"Ah,_ Amérique?_ I think it would be best if you left Antoine alone for a moment…"

"He won't do anything to you when I'm around," America said firmly. "He couldn't."

"That's not the point, git," England said, voice condescending. "Matthew, could you go make America some pancakes or something?"

The other young man nodded. Matthew? He tried pulling on America's arm again, but his brother wouldn't move. Lovino huffed.

"Suffocating him? At least I'm not trying to force him to fucking _give up_ his own land. Asshole."

"Lovi?"

Lovino's eyes shot down to Spain, who was perched on the couch rather uncomfortably.

"I'll handle this." He stood, putting a hand on Lovino's shoulder. "Sit. It'll be okay."

There was a moment of silence before Lovino nodded. He sighed sharply, sitting down on the couch hard. America grinned, and it was disgusting.

"Finally. Man, if _I _had to deal with that all the time I'd probably shoot someone too."

It was said jokingly, but the moment the words came out of America's mouth Lovino knew…he just knew.

It happened too fast for anyone in the room to process, but then America was on the floor and Spain was on top of him. Immediately England jumped up, his cup of tea crashing and splattering the liquid all over the ground. France froze, watching the scene with wide eyes as punches started flying. America was fighting back, but Lovino knew how Spain could get in these kinds of situations. Goddammit. Lovino had no idea what to do.

America was yelling all kinds of profanity as he struggled not to be beaten, but Spain was eerily silent. The shouts ended abruptly, however, as two hands closed around America's throat. He froze solid, staring incredulously up at Spain. He was already starting to get a bruise under his left eye.

That was when the other young man…Matthew…came rushing forward. He pulled at Spain's shoulders, trying to get him off of America. He was small, though, and when Spain was like this he was no match. The back of a fist collided with the side of Matthew's face, sending him staggering back. He tripped, falling backwards and hitting his head.

America made some kind of strangled noise before starting to wrestle his way out of Spain's grasp. Lovino watched in horror as the younger nation landed a punch square on Spain's jaw, popping it to the side. As Spain's hands retracted America leaped forward, slamming the smaller nation down to the floor.

England decided that it was about time to act, and he rushed forward to wrap his arms around America's waist and pull him back. How he managed to get the young man up and back had Lovino at a loss, but then again he wasn't sure he had much to lose at this point. Either way he joined England, coming up to pull Spain back as the older man tried to leap for America again. He squeezed his eyes shut, arms tight around Spain's chest.

"Stop it, you fucking bastards…" he hissed. Shit shit shit. They'd been trying to avoid war but now…goddammit, Spain! He just had to go and fuck everything up, didn't he?

"Nobody touches Mattie, got it?" America shouted, trying to fight his way out of England's grasp. "I'm gonna fucking _nuke_ your ass!"

Lovino swallowed thickly, trying to clear his head. Suddenly he felt fingers close around his wrist, and his arm was jerked forward. He cried out as Spain jumped to his feet, dragging the young Italian man with him. Lovino could barely see, could barely think as he found himself pulled along at an impossible speed, past America, out of the house, down the porch steps.

He heard a voice yelling and it took him a moment to realize that it was his own. "Let me go, goddammit! Why do you always have to fuck things up like this? _Let me go_!"

The car door was opened and Lovino was hefted inside. He slapped Spain across the face but there was no reaction. He could do nothing as he heard the door slam closed and another open. Spain jumped into the driver's seat, and Lovino could hear keys in the ignition. He was in the back seat, and he shot up as he felt the car pulling back.

"Why do you have to fucking _do_ shit like that? You're an idiot, you fucking bastard! I hate you! Let me out and go back in to _fucking apologize, _you goddamn—"

"Shut up."

Lovino's eyes went wide and he was silent.

…

The hotel room was nearly pitch black, save for the flickering television lights. Germany kept his eyes glued to the screen, sitting unmoving on the bed.

"…in these videos you can see the the bombs destroying this portion of the downtown area. The casualties have now climbed to over four hundred and as volunteers at the Fire Department start their search through the rubble I'm sure that total will rise…"

Germany swallowed thickly, glancing down at the sleeping figure lying peacefully in his lap.

Feliciano's arms were tucked into his body, with one hand on Germany's knee. After a moment he glanced back up at the television.

"…another series of attacks in Toronto have also fueled the decision, where the death count is reported to be heading toward seven hundred at the moment…the President gave an emergency address just a few minutes ago regarding the nature of these terrorist attacks…"

Germany felt the familiar pricks in his stomach as he took in the information. At this point war was practically imminent. And…he swallowed thickly, eyes flicking unconsciously back down to Feliciano…and if Romano was going to ally himself with Spain…he stopped that thought there and brought his hand up to rest on Feliciano's head. No. There could be no war. They had treaties to prevent that. They had rules. And rules would always win in the end. They would.

Feliciano rolled onto his back, head cradled in Germany's lap. He was so quiet when he slept, so sweet…so vulnerable. This would not be easy on him.

So Germany let him sleep, a luxury he knew would not be available to him tonight.

...

_So that's how it goes. This is actually the longest chapter so far, aren't you proud?_

_All I can say is that I'm sorry, Alfred. I love you, you're my favorite character, but sometimes you're a douche. And I'm sorry to Canada as well, for getting kind of beaten up._

_I think you all know what this means, though. It means war. And war is not going to be a pretty thing. It never is. I don't think I realized how long this fanfiction was shaping up to be, but what can you do? Thank you to everyone who reads this :D_

_I was in a languages-type mood when I was writing the first part of this (then again...I'm always in a languages mood) so here are the translations. I speak some Italian and I've taken six years of Spanish so...yeah._

_Italian: I think you can figure out what Feliciano says, but here is the majority of his rant, translated: "...and so then I didn't know _what to do_, and I couldn't just go back to my room _without pants_, right? It was embarrassing, and I thought I was gonna have to grab a towel but there were none left! So I saw my brother's pants and I didn't think-" a sip of hot chocolate "-so I put them on and left but I didn't know that he was coming back for them. So I said to myself that I was going to put them back if he wanted them but then I forgot. So then later..."_

_fratello ed io: brother and I_

__...al negozio, e un uomo con un cane voleva comprare la nostra casa...: ...to the store, and a man with a dog wanted to buy our house...__

__Spanish: _Tu voz es como música...tus ojos son más hermosos que las estrellas...todo el mundo está celoso de tu sonrisa...: Your voice is like music...your eyes are more beautiful than the stars...the whole world is jealous of your smile...___

___No me importa: I don't care___

_So yeah. That's kind of it. I'd be amazingly happy if you would all review! I mean, you don't HAVE to, but reviews are like chocolate...and you can never give enough chocolate to a starving writer..._

_Thank you and I'll see you next chapter :D_


	11. Antonio

_So! Hey! What's up? This story is officially the longest thing I have ever written. In my life. And sometimes I look over it and realize that this could have been 50000 words put toward an original story. Then I dismiss that thought, because this is too much fun to write._

_This chapter was hard for some reason. Like I couldn't figure out what to write...and the middle is pretty much all one conversation. So yeah. _

_Enjoy!_

...

Lovino sat in silence as Spain drove them down some road he didn't know at a speed he was sure wasn't legal. He stared blankly at the seat in front of him, unable to form words. He would try to gain a sentence…maybe just a phrase…but it would either break apart before getting out or die on his tongue. Spain was entirely silent, save for the heavy breaths that had subsided a long time ago.

Spain had told him to shut up. In that _tone of voice_ that he used when he was so damn angry and...and Lovino had no idea how to react. It wasn't like he hadn't heard that voice before, but it had never been directed at _him_ in particular. He'd always been a bystander when it happened, watching it all from a safe distance. There were knots in his stomach that just kept tying tighter and tighter as he thought.

The dark landscape flew by, down empty roads and deserted fields and forest. It all didn't quite process in Lovino's mind. Eventually he found something to say, just a few words, but they were all in Italian. Spain would understand it, of course. He knew Italian, and Lovino knew Spanish. How could they not?

He opened his mouth, taking in a breath. His eyes flicked up to Spain's face, mostly concealed by the angle at which Lovino was looking. He blinked, a sickening realization coming over him. He snapped his mouth shut, staring instead down at his knees as that one thought planted itself in his mind and started parading around in endless circles.

Spain didn't want him to talk. Spain had told him to shut up, to stop talking, to be quiet. He wasn't in wont of Lovino's opinion on anything. He wasn't waiting for Lovino to say something, was he? He wanted quiet. And Lovino felt too ill to break it.

He didn't know for how long they drove there in complete silence before Spain made a turn and pulled into the parking lot of a motel. He didn't say anything as Spain got out, walking inside without looking back to the car. Lovino had a fleeting thought, one that said that he should jump out and run as fast as he could. But he knew he wouldn't.

Because it was _Spain_. And…and…goddammit. He had no explanation for himself. He couldn't say why he didn't run. Spain was violent and he wasn't taking a perfectly good chance to run away. Was he an idiot or something? A complete idiot for not taking the opportunity.

But he didn't want to leave, not really. Spain was going to walk back out of that motel in a second to get Lovino, or he would expect the younger man to join him, and Lovino didn't want to disappoint. The truth was, well, he _wanted_ to be there because it was Spain. And it was fucking _stupid_, that's what it was.

He opened the car door, stepping out onto the asphalt of the parking lot. The lights in the motel were on, and some large sign up on a post was proudly proclaiming whatever chain it was. Lovino sighed, trying to will the twisting in his gut to go away. It wasn't listening. Bastard. He wasn't scared of Spain, he really wasn't. He had no reason to be. One little "shut up" didn't warrant fear.

Taking a deep breath, Lovino started toward the motel doors. It was small and didn't look like it had much to it but he couldn't see any broken parts or chunks of rubble. So it was probably better than the one he'd stayed in a few days before. And if he played his cards right he might not be mugged this time.

Lovino pushed the doors open, looking around. It was simple, easy to navigate, and he saw Spain immediately. He was leaning against the wall beside the counter, arms crossed. His face was unreadable. Lovino blinked, glancing over to the woman who was seated behind the desk. She was reading a book and chewing some gum rather loudly. There was nobody else in the room.

"Come on," Spain said, voice affectless. Lovino sighed with a shudder, following the other man back behind the front room and into a long hallway. He realized that he didn't have anything with him, remembering how he'd given all of his things to Feliciano.

He also realized, for the first time, that he wasn't wearing the same clothes as when he'd passed out in the taxi. Spain didn't say anything, simply stopping at a door about halfway down the hallway and opening it with a set of keys he held. He stepped into the doorway, holding the door open for Lovino. The younger man walked through, staring determinedly at the floor.

"I'm sorry," Spain said shortly. "There's only one bed."

"Right," Lovino said. He stopped in the middle of the floor, unsure of what to do. Just sleep? Talk? Not talk. Spain didn't want him to talk. But it wasn't like he was going to just let the older man push him around…he didn't care what Spain wanted, did he? He was just avoiding any violence. Just avoiding violence.

Spain started to undress, Lovino watching him in silence. He wasn't sure he'd been this quiet for this long in a while. He then followed suit, pulling off a t-shirt he'd never seen before and a pair of jeans he was sure he'd seen Spain in at some point. He cautiously slipped into the bed, lying down on his side. After a moment the lights flicked off and he heard some rustling around. He felt the depression in the bed behind him, and he struggled to calm his breath.

He closed his eyes, arms coming up and tucking into his body. All was still for a moment before Spain spoke.

"Lovi?"

Lovino felt something in him breathe a sigh of relief at the familiar nickname. "Mmhmm?"

"Are you mad at me?"

Lovino didn't answer for a moment. Then, "No."

"Then did I make you sad?"

"…no."

A pause. Lovino shifted a little, staring at the dark wall. When Spain's voice came again Lovino had already started to drift off.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Lovino's eyes shot open. He looked down, eyes glazing over as he thought for a moment. Was he afraid of Spain? Was he? His thoughts were so hard to decipher sometimes. He rolled over in steps, shifting until he was face to face with Spain.

"I don't know," he said quietly, his shrug almost nonexistent.

For a long time Spain didn't say anything. He sucked in a deep breath and looked as though he was about to speak, but when he spoke again his voice was weaker.

"Do you…hate me?"

Lovino didn't know how to answer that. He bit his lip and paused. Spain must have interpreted his hesitation as a yes, because he rolled over onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. From this angle Lovino could see more of his face. He was just as beautiful as ever, and Lovino couldn't even bring himself to cheapen the moment by telling himself not to think things like that.

"No," he finally said. "You're a bastard but I don't."

Spain jerked up, turning to Lovino with wide eyes. "Really?" And then he looked down. "You should."

"I don't know." Lovino pursed his lips. "If you stopped fucking around like you've been doing I'd be happier. Have you even thought about what happened?"

Spain nodded, but he still seemed surprised. "So you don't hate me? Even…"

"I don't hate you." And, before he could stop it Lovino added, "You fucking _shot_ France and he doesn't."

"But…"

"I _don't hate you_. Okay? I don't."

Spain was silent for another long moment. "I'm sorry."

"Dammit, if you don't stop apologizing for fucking _everything_ I'm leaving."

And at once Lovino was wrapped up in a hug. He barely had time to react before the arms curled around him, pulling him into a sitting position. A head rested in the crook of his neck and stayed there, and he found himself pulled nearly onto Spain's lap. He froze in surprise, breath catching in his throat.

"Thank you," Spain whispered. Lovino felt for a moment like the other man was overreacting, but he didn't say anything. He'd been surprisingly good at keeping his mouth shut lately.

Carefully he returned the hug. "Don't thank me," Lovino said quietly, shifting in Spain's lap so he was more comfortable. "Just don't ever tell me to shut up again."

He heard a hint of a laugh, and then Spain lifted his head to look Lovino in the eye. "Never. Anyway, you probably wouldn't listen." Spain was looking much more cheerful again, and that was always a good sign. Lovino figured he'd gotten more used to the mood swings by now so it was more of a relief than a shock.

"You're a crazy bastard, you know that."

"Of course," Spain agreed, but it sounded remarkably as though he didn't know what it was he was agreeing to.

"You're an idiot."

"So I've been told."

"You started a goddamn war."

"I noticed."

"You're more oblivious than America on a good day."

"I'm sure I am."

"But we're going to ignore that for now," Lovino said matter-of-factly.

"Are we?"

"Because this seems like a good time and I'm going to be really fucking spontaneous and awesome so you better goddamn appreciate it."

The older man didn't have enough time to answer. Lovino connected their lips, Spain making a small noise of approval. Almost immediately he felt those arms slide up his back, and he shivered appreciatively. His own hands were running down Spain's chest as the kiss became deeper, and Lovino found himself simply reveling in the fact that he and Spain were kissing again. His heart was beating faster and faster, and he pressed his body into Spain's.

"I like your spontaneity," Spain remarked, sounding far to calm for his own good. Lovino ground down on his hips, intent on changing that.

Spain couldn't suppress a groan. It broke the kiss apart, giving Lovino a chance to start down Spain's neck, kissing lightly as he went. He liked this, taking control. It was certainly helping him forget about what may or may not have occurred in America's house. And the sounds that Spain was making were lovely.

"Spain," he whispered against the other man's chest. Somehow they'd managed to lean over, and now Spain was on his back underneath Lovino. A hand came to grip the back of Lovino's head, tilting it up.

He looked up at Spain and blinked, wondering if the other man was going to stop him.

"_Antonio_," Spain breathed, a small smile on his face. Lovino rolled his eyes, lips touching Spain…Antonio's stomach. And for some reason that name just made everything better. Antonio. _Antonio_. He smiled, planting another kiss on the older man's stomach, this time just above his belly button.

Spain made a small noise and at once a grin overtook Lovino's face. It was hidden in the darkness and he wondered if Spain could feel it. Judging by the frustrated groan he gave he had other things on his mind. "_Che bello…_" Lovino whispered, a hand sliding up the other man's thigh. "…_Antonio_…"

Antonio gasped lightly. Lovino could only ever talk like that, in that voice, when it was in Italian. In English it felt fake, in Spanish it felt forced…but in his own language the words came easily and he felt confident saying them. He tried again, his kisses straying down to the front of Antonio's (that name was wonderful to think, wasn't it?) boxer-briefs. His hand kept travelling higher up Antonio's leg, fingers brushing the start of his hip.

He moved back up Antonio's body, capturing his mouth in a kiss again. The older man's hands ran up his sides and back down as their mouths moved together, eventually settling on the curve of his ass. Lovino sighed into the kiss and moved his hand over, fingers finally brushing over the bulge in Antonio's shorts. There was a sharp intake of breath and the kiss deepened, tongues curling around each other. One of Antonio's hands ran through Lovino's hair.

A knee rose between Lovino's legs, pressing wonderfully against his groin. He groaned, letting his head drop down as Antonio's tongue trailed away from his mouth to his ear. Fingers poked down below his waistband, running across his hip until a full hand was palming his arousal. As the dry warmth enclosed around him he gasped. Antonio laughed softly.

"I've wanted to do that for so long…" he whispered into Lovino's ear, earning a shudder. "To touch you…"

Lovino had nothing to say, not sure if he was even able to move as those hot fingers stroked up and oh god_-_fucking-_dammit_ this was what he wanted so badly. Spain kept whispering into his ear, sweet nothings in whatever language sprang to mind and hands kept roaming and touching. He let his mind go blank, letting everything else drift away as he focused on the moment, this one moment in time that was made of Antonio's large hands and smooth voice and tanned body.

And it was perfect.

…

"Look, I need you, dude."

Germany sighed exasperatedly. America crossed his arms, giving the other man a look that said something remarkably like "you have to."

"This isn't my responsibility," Germany held firmly. "I'm not obliged to fight for your cause."

"But I _need_ you! And anyway, you're right there next to Spain and whatever so we can beat him!"

Germany decided it wasn't necessary to correct America on his geography. "I believe you should rethink this, America. You can't handle another war."

"I totally can, though! And this one's _way _more important! Spain just attacked me out of nowhere, and that's dangerous, man!"

"Then you fight it on your own." Germany glanced over at Feliciano, who was currently occupying himself by playing with some woman's little poodle. She was smiling fondly at him as he ruffled the puffy animal's ears and cooed softly.

"But it'll be _easier_. And England's being all traitor-like and not picking a side. France too! And when I asked Portugal he told me something really fast and nobody would tell me what it means. So you're the only one left, you know?"

"No, I don't know. This conversation is over."

"Pleaaaase?" America pleaded, eyes wide. He was pouting something fierce.

"I can't," Germany said, but he knew his eyes said otherwise.

Because, in all honesty, he wanted to. He wasn't happy with Spain and he _wanted_ to fight. It was quite rare that he ever did, but after the continuous terrorist attacks Spain's behavior had become intolerable. He couldn't, though. It would be unethical. And he had Feliciano to think about. Anyway, America wasn't really being very convincing.

"Yes! You can! It'll be over in, like, two seconds. I already got Mattie and stuff, and I think that Denmark was going to help too but I don't really know. But we have me!" He paused to jab a thumb hard into his chest. "So we'll win in no time!"

"What do you plan to do if you win?" Germany asked evenly, eyes flicking back to Feliciano, who had left the dog behind and was now talking with a young child very animatedly.

"_When_ we win we're gonna make sure there aren't any more terrorists. 'Cause they're the whole problem. And maybe we can split some parts of Spain up. Y'know. For posterity."

Germany swallowed. Maybe…maybe he could get Italy on his side. As long as Feliciano did the convincing, Romano would eventually give in. But no, he couldn't put that kind of pressure on the young Italian man. Images of burning New York flashed through his mind. It wasn't as though Spain had attacked Germany itself, right? So he had nothing to do with the war thus far, right? He was uninvolved.

Right?

"Come _on_," America begged, going so far as to clasp his hands in front of his face. "The UN's pretty much all gone to shit now on the whole war thing so it's all cool!"

Germany bit the inside of his cheek, not even bothering to look at America anymore. Feliciano was coming back over, the child's mother having asked him to leave. He was smiling happily, looking rather eager to see America.

"What are you talking about?" he asked brightly, cocking his head to the side.

America opened his mouth to speak but Germany cut him off. "Nothing."

"Okay," Feliciano said, "But I know when you say that it's something important."

_Verdammt_.

"War stuff! You wanna join my side?" America asked excitedly. Feliciano blinked at him for a moment.

"The war with big brother Spain?"

Germany glared at America. "Yep yep yep! That one!"

"I have to talk to _fratello_ first, but I think I could help you. Both of us, right?" The last part Feliciano directed at Germany, a bright smile on his face.

"You can't just say that about…this is a _war_. It takes more thought than that," Germany stressed, trying not to look desperate.

"But Spain hurt people, didn't he? And I want to help."

As usual, Germany had a hard time expressing the fallacies in Feliciano's logic. It was always this way for some reason. Sometimes there was just so _much_ wrong…or Feliciano looked so proud at having figured it out…and Germany couldn't say anything coherent enough to dissuade him. This time he was determined to try, though.

"He didn't hurt _you_, did he?"

"No," Feliciano thought for a moment. "But he and _fratello_ have been going everywhere together. And yesterday I was feeling really sad for some reason. So I think that Spain made Lovi sad."

"You can tell?" Germany asked, eyebrows shooting up. Feliciano nodded happily.

"Mmhmm! But not like if he gets hurt I get hurt. Well, kind of. But it's not the same thing. I don't know. I just kind of _feel_ it, you know?"

America was listening to Feliciano with a grin on his face. "That's perfect, dude! So you stick with us and then you can be like a spy!"

Germany's eyes shot to America. "No. Did you not understand what he just said?"

"Hells yeah!"

Germany groaned in irritation. "_Nein_. We're not using him as a spy."

There was a pause and then a huge grin stretched across America's face. "You just said 'we', dude. You're part of the team, now!"

Hands came up to massage Germany's temples. "Fine! Fine."

"Thanks," America said, giving Germany an encouraging smile. "It won't be bad. You could kick their asses all on your own if you wanted to."

"That not the point of this," Germany said sharply. America shrugged.

"I know. It's the thought that counts. So you'll help me?"

Germany sighed, nodding. America gave a loud "woohoo!" and pumped his fist into the air. Feliciano was looking excited as well.

"We haven't been at war in a long time," he mused, looking expectantly up at Germany. "It should be good for the economy, right?"

"Possibly," the taller man answered quite noncommittally. "But you have to stay neutral."

Feliciano's face fell. "I don't want you to fight without me."

"It won't even be a real war," America assured him. "We'll just force in and set up some bases and stuff. The only problem's that Spain doesn't want us to. That's it."

"Is your eye okay?" Germany asked, examining the bruise around America's eye carefully. The younger nation nodded.

"It's all cool. Just a little hit."

"That's good," Feliciano smiled. "And if it's not even a war I can help."

"Feliciano—"

"Jesus, let him help," America crossed his arms. "It'll be fast."

"It had better be," Germany warned, giving America a stern look.

"Relax. It'll be over before you know it."

Germany didn't look very convinced. "If a declaration is signed I'm withdrawing." America knew exactly what he meant. There would be an invasion, and if anyone decided to sign a declaration of war then it had the potential to become much more dangerous. In the midst of a war one often lost sight of the original goal, and it became fighting without purpose. That could prove deadly.

"Sure. I just need some backup. It'll be fine."

"You keep saying that. I wonder if you mean it," Germany said, mostly to himself. Feliciano was looking very excited. That's the way it went. These kinds of things were always very exciting until you were actually within them. He'd make sure this invasion went smoothly, though. It was the least he could do.

"When you called you sounded far too angry," Germany said, looking slightly skeptical. "You told me you were starting a war."

"Yeah, well. Artie talked me out of it, I guess. Something about being 'reckless and uninformed.'"

That sounded about right. "I want to be sure we're not in danger of retaliation. You must be the one to assure that."

"If Spain tries to do anything we'll just ignore 'im. I don't think he'll do too much."

"Germany?"

"But can you be sure?"

"_Germany_?"

"Yeah, it's fine. He ran away after trying to beat me and Matt up and he took Romeo with him."

"Romano. Yes. Are they working together?"

"_Germania_?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Romo was ordering him around and everything, so I think they're together somehow."

"_Deutschland!_"

Germany jumped, turning to Feliciano in surprise. The younger man was biting his lip, looking extraordinarily concerned about something. "Yes?"

"If _fratello_ is working with Spain then that means I have to too, right?"

Germany opened his mouth as if to speak but he couldn't think of an answer. America shrugged. "Maybe."

"It won't matter because there won't be fighting," Germany declared, "Just surveillance."

"Which is why we can use him as a spy. Duh."

"We're _not_ using him as a spy."

"Yeah yeah, whatever. Okay, so I gotta go meet up with Artie. See you guys later. We need to get together sometime and talk. Wednesday sound good? Yep, let's do Wednesday. Your place, okay?"

Germany blinked. "Fine," he said, not exactly prepared for the plans to be made. "Noon. Don't be late."

"Crap, there's Art. Yeah, I won't be. See ya!"

"_Ciao!"_ Feliciano waved as America jogged off to meet with a rather unimpressed-looking England. Germany sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them Feliciano was standing in front of him, trying to heft a large suitcase into his arms.

Immediately Germany rushed forward, grabbing the suitcase before it fell. Feliciano smiled brilliantly at him, and a hint of a smile crossed his own face. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. His apprehension and anxiety from the night before were gone, or at least partially so. So there would be an invasion, the establishment of a military force in Spain…and that would be it. No fighting. The UN treaties still held. Try for peace before war. Peace was good.

"So does this mean I get to stay at your house?" Feliciano asked excitedly. Germany nodded and Feliciano grinned. "I like spending time with you," he added, cocking his head to the side.

"I do too," Germany replied, earning him a hug. Yes. This wouldn't be bad. He could help…oh, who was he kidding? He could _protect_ Feliciano. Which was really all he wanted to do anyway. And Spain wasn't as dangerous as everyone was making him out to be. They'd be okay.

Everything would be okay.

…

The morning was not romantic.

Lovino didn't open his eyes to the pale glow of early sunlight, he didn't wake up in Spain's arms and he wasn't able to snuggle up close until he was fully awake.

In fact, he woke up on the floor. Or at least partially. One leg was still hanging off the edge of the bed, almost completely numb, while the rest of him was squashed uncomfortably against the nightstand. His neck was stiff and he had a pounding headache.

He stood up, eyes still thick with sleep. Antonio was curled up safe and sound smack in the center of the bed, every single blanket there was wrapped around him like a cocoon. Lovino groaned, scratching the top of his head. The bedhead was absolutely atrocious so he decided to go take a shower. Spain looked like he was dead so Lovino chose not to try and wake him.

The shower was a bit too cold for his taste and the towels a bit too small but he made do. He also didn't have a toothbrush and his mouth felt disgusting. This was why he wasn't a morning person. That was more Feliciano's thing.

"_Oye_, Antonio!" he called, stepping out of the bathroom wrapped in one of those too-small towels. The lump on the bed twitched but it could have been a trick of the light.

He tried again. "_Antonio_. Get your lazy ass up!"

A low groan from the bed signaled that the other man was, in fact, awake. However much he was resenting it. Antonio rolled over, an arm flying out to the side.

"Mm…Lovi…what're you doin' up?" he slurred. Then his fallen hand slapped onto his face, rubbing at his eyes. "_¿Qu__é horaaaaa?"_

"It's almost ten," Lovino responded, trying to sound as annoyed as possible. "Get up."

Antonio blinked, looking up at Lovino. He stared for a moment before something seemed to click in his head. Immediately he was up, staring at Lovino. Or, more particularly, the towel.

Ugh. A pervert until the end, that's what Antonio was. Lovino's hand came down to grip the towel, making sure it stayed in place. "I'm just getting dressed. Keep it in your pants for just a second, will you?"

"I don't think that's what you were saying last night…" Antonio's lips curled into a lewd smile. Lovino rolled his eyes.

"Really mature," he reprimanded sarcastically. Antonio stood up, swiftly making it around the bed. As he approached Lovino put up a hand.

"Not until you brush your teeth," he said, wrinkling his nose. He wasn't sure he liked the sparkle in Antonio's eye as the words came out.

"Don't worry," the taller man said, leaning down to press his lips to Lovino's neck. This was entirely unexpected, and Lovino sucked in a quick breath. Hands came to rest on his hips and he swallowed.

"Just…just go take a shower or something," Lovino tried to protest, looking for a reason for Antonio to go away. Because it was the principle of the thing. And maybe this morning was turning out to be a bit more romantic than expected. Or, if not that, at least kind of sexy.

Teeth grazed lightly along skin until they reached Lovino's collarbone. He whined softly, and as the sound came out he suddenly decided he didn't want to be there. He pushed back and Antonio laughed.

"Whatever. Shower. And then I need to go get my shit from Feliciano."

"As you wish," Antonio said, falling into a sweeping bow. Lovino rolled his eyes, slapping the older man on the shoulder. Then he went to go pick up the clothes from the day before. As much as he detested re-wearing clothing he didn't have much of a choice. He was pulling the jeans up when the knocks came on the door.

Lovino sighed, hearing the water come on in the shower. Antonio always managed to be absent when stuff happened. Picking up the shirt, Lovino sauntered over to the door. There was more knocking and he sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming," he said as he unlocked and opened the door. As he did he froze.

America was standing there, flanked by two men in fatigues. Carrying guns. He was tapping his foot, looking like some kind of predator. Lovino's hand brought the shirt up to his bare chest, staring at the group with wide eyes.

"Hey, Spain there?"

Lovino nodded, blinking. His eyes ran over the guns, which looked pretty real. "He's…um…yeah…he's in the shower…so…" So…what? Lovino stared at America for a moment before continuing. "…so fuck off."

America didn't look surprised. "It's cool. I can wait."

"Why the hell are you here, anyway?"

"Because," America started, sounding as though he were explaining something to a child. "I'm invading."

...what the fuck?

...

_Yeah, America's not waiting for Germany and Italy. He's just gonna go ahead and do whatever the hell he wants, because he's beast like that. And he has no sense of timing._

_There's a little bit of Italian and Spanish here (does the German even count?)...so..._

_Italian: Che bello...Antonio : How beautiful...Antonio_

_Spanish: ¿Qué horaaaaaa? : What tiiiiime (is it)?_

_(Germany says "dammit." German is one of the languages I have absolutely no experience in. Except for the Foreign Languages song. XD)_

_And about the first part...I'm sorry. I was thinking about making it all lemony and nice but I chickened out. So maybe when I grow a pair I might fill it in as a separate one-shot (that is, if anyone wants me to. If you don't I won't). I also kind of suck at writing anything vaguely like a lemon. So yeah. This story has also been upgraded! To a nice, shiny "M" rating! Just to be safe, you know?_

_ALSO ANOTHER NOTE ON THE FIRST SCENE. DON'T SAY STUFF ABOUT LOVINO BEING A "SEME" OR SOMETHING. BECAUSE THE SEME/UKE THING IS TOTAL- *ahem* I'm very sorry about that. I've been trying to control those outbursts but the meds aren't working. I go into therapy next week. It is true, though. I do not write the whole seme/uke top/bottom yaoi thing. I'm sorry if this upsets you. :(_

_And I think that's it. I really need to stop writing this god-awful long A/Ns. Like WHOA. _

_As usual, please review or favorite or alert or ANYTHING, PLEASE! We wants it. We NEEDS IT. *hunches over reviews* Stupid hobbitses...trying to take it away...my precious..._

_I love you all._


	12. Takin' Over

_OMIGOD I'M SO SORRY. THIS IS SO LATE._

_Though I'd like to take responsibility for its lateness there were a few reasons as to why this chapter didn't come for so long:_

_1. Writer's block. Massive, overwhelming writer's block._

_2. School starting in a few days._

_3. This nice little thing called Hurricane Irene. I live in upstate New York. You know, the place where you see all those little towns with 16 feet of water and flash-floods taking out whole houses? Yeah. I was fortunate enough to only have lost power for a few days but some people I know had to evacuate their houses and they set up relief shelters and stuff. Not fun._

_So that's why this is late and a bit short. I was also an idiot and started a second story. *facepalm*_

_Anyway, after that horribly long A/N, I bring you a fairly crappy chapter. I really am sorry OTZ_

...

The news came as a shock to some. To others it had been completely expected. Some countries were excited. Every civilian across the world was too confused to figure out what was going on. It was a very delicate situation, one that should have been handled with care.

"Hell no. Get the fuck out."

And that was probably not the way to handle it.

America sighed, shaking his head. "It wasn't a _question_. And if Spain's in the shower I can come back later."

Lovino didn't know what to say. He stared at America open-mouthed, trying to form words but unable to do so. It must have been the overwhelming _stupidity_ that filled the room that left him dumbstruck. America was looking at him expectantly.

"I…but…" Lovino could still hear the water running. Spain wouldn't be out of the shower for a while now. "…leave."

One of the guys in the military garb stepped forward, showing off his gun. America smiled, and though it was probably meant to be encouraging it made Lovino want to strangle something. He could have, if he'd tried, but when there were guys with guns…well…he'd strangle America later.

"I don't want to fight with you," America reasoned, shrugging. "This is just in case, you know? I mean, doesn't he freak you out sometimes?"

"No," Lovino answered quickly, still glaring daggers at the younger man. "He doesn't."

"Right," America said, though it sounded far too sarcastic for his own good. "Well, he's freaking the rest of the world out so we need to keep an eye on him. Just in case."

"I just forgot," Lovino said through his teeth. "Spain's out."

"Then who's in the shower?"

Lovino narrowed his eyes. "My girlfriend," he lied.

"So Spain's your girlfriend."

"Fuck you," Lovino bit back, prepared to close the door in America's face. As he did, however, it was stopped by a large hand. That hand belonged to the taller of the two military guys. Lovino froze, releasing the doorknob immediately. He glared his best up at the unnamed man, who had the wonderful fortune of appearing slightly less emotional than a brick. Damn America and his damn army escorts.

"Look, all I need to do is have a little chat, set things up, and it'll all be cool. It's not like I'm gonna beat him up or something."

Lovino looked pointedly at the soldiers.

"They're here just in case," America explained, patting each of them on the back hard. Both of them stumbled under the force of the hit, but their unnervingly blank expressions didn't change. Pssh, America didn't need any help. He was just doing it for show.

"Five minutes," Lovino snapped, stepping to the side. America grinned as he went through the door.

"What if he isn't out in five minutes?"

"Tough."

America shrugged. "You get him," he said simply, pointing toward the bathroom. The shower was still running, a faintly humming Antonio wonderfully oblivious to the situation playing out in the rest of the room. Lovino wrinkled his nose.

"You can't be in _that _much of a fucking hurry."

"Hey, you're the one who said five minutes. I was just playin' by the rules here."

Right. Rules. What about the rules that said that you can't just fucking invade another UN nation? Or the ones that said that if you were an asshole you were gonna get sacked? Because that was a punishment Lovino was more than happy to dish out.

He sat down on the bed, crossing his arms. A few moments passed in almost silence, save for the light, nonsensical humming and the rushing of water. Then, to Lovino's surprise, Antonio shut the shower off. He'd always figured that the Spaniard was the kind to take hour-long showers and things like that. Oh well.

"Lovi~!" he called lightly. "Can you get me a towel?"

America barely stifled a snicker and Lovino reddened. "Shut up!" he shushed, ignoring America's laughter as he went to a shelf beside the bathroom that was stacked with towels. He shot a deadly glare at America before carefully opening the door and sticking the towel through.

What he didn't expect was to be pulled inside. He cried out, drowning out America's cackling. He nearly fell, arms wrapping around his waist and holding him lightly at an awkward angle. Lovino immediately straightened, trying to push Antonio away. A shower of kisses fell upon his face, and no matter how hard he shoved the older man wouldn't budge.

"Stop!" he hissed, a hand coming up to cover Antonio's mouth. Antonio didn't release the younger man, cocking his head slightly.

"¿_Por qué?"_ Antonio asked brightly. Lovino's eyes darted to the door before they shot back to the taller man.

"Just…ugh…" he didn't want Antonio to freak out if he found out that America was in the room. "Just no."

This didn't seem to deter Antonio, who peeled Lovino's hand away to dive in for more kisses. His lips captured Lovino's, and for a moment the younger man couldn't protest. Dammit…he found himself relaxing even though he didn't want to. He allowed Antonio the kiss…yes, you bastard, he _allowed_ it…pulling away just moments later.

"America's out there," he blurted out. Antonio blinked for a moment.

"I know."

Lovino gaped. Antonio smiled, probably expecting another kiss now that the revelation was out of the way. "Well, he wants you to talk to him. About stuff." Lovino kept it short and left out the detail.

"Okay. Did you get the towel? I didn't notice," Antonio said, staring down at Lovino, who flushed.

"Yeah, I got your fucking towel. So stop dicking around and put it on."

It was about this time that Lovino realized that Spain was completely bare. He froze, towel clutched in his hand, wishing for all the world that America would just _go the hell away_ and do whatever he did in his free time. Instead of taking up time that Lovino and Antonio could be spending…doing other stuff. Like stuff he didn't actually like to talk about. You just _did_ it, you know? Whatever. He was rambling about unimportant shit.

"If that's what you want," Antonio said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Just get America to leave fast," Lovino said before he realized what that implied.

"Oh," Antonio said with a smirk, "Do you have _plans?_" The last bit was more of a whisper, right next to Lovino's ear. The short man froze, wondering why the hell he was still flushing at stupid stuff like this after the night before.

"Just shut up," he bit, but it didn't come out nearly as sharp as he intended. "And go fucking _talk_ to America."

"He follows up fast," Antonio mused, wrapping the small white towel around his waist. Lovino almost felt disappointed.

They left the bathroom together, Antonio keeping an embarrassing hand planted on the small of Lovino's back. America was examining something on the wall (although the last time Lovino had checked it was bare), but when the two men approached he looked to them and grinned.

"I heard you wanted to speak with me," Antonio said smoothly, a pleasant look that wasn't quite a smile on his face.

"Yep!" America said excitedly. "So, I dunno what Romano told you, but I'm invading."

Antonio didn't look like he was prepared for that. The pleasant look dropped immediately, replaced by one of confusion. He stared at America for a moment before a look of realization came over him and he smiled again. America smiled back just as happily.

"Ooooh," he said, grinning brightly. "No, you're not."

America's eyes widened. "What?" he asked, not defiantly but simply looking for clarification. He looked deeply confused. Lovino smirked and crossed his arms. _There_ was the Antonio he liked.

"You aren't invading," Antonio said simply. "You're leaving."

"Um, no. I was actually just coming to pick you up," America said, shrugging.

Lovino furrowed his eyebrows. Picking Antonio up? For what?

"I'm perfectly fine where I am."

"Yeah, well, a whole bunch of other people don't think so, so you can just crash at my place for a while until we—"

"You don't seem to understand," Antonio countered as though lecturing a small child. "I'm not going anywhere." His smile was almost sickly and oh-so fake. Lovino could have fallen in love with him if he hadn't already.

"This doesn't have to be a big deal, dude. You need help."

That seemed to irk Antonio. "What do you mean by _that_?" he asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, you shot France, you tried to kill me and Mattie, and you're probably gonna turn communist or something."

"Can't you fucking get _over_ that?" Lovino demanded, exasperated. America shrugged.

"_Anyway_, I just want to keep an eye on you."

There was no way America was going to be taking over Spain. And no way that Spain was going to allow it. Antonio was way too full of himself to ever let something like a takeover happen. So America could go fuck himself.

"I think I'll be okay on my own," Antonio replied, the condescending tone still coloring his voice.

One of the military guys stepped forward and took Antonio by the arm. The nation jerked away with a loud "Hey!" Once again the man tried to restrain Antonio as Lovino watched. He slapped the man's hand away and Lovino jumped forward to help. He tried to push the much larger man away from Antonio, only earning hands on his own wrists, spinning until he was up against the wall. Antonio was still struggling.

"Look, you don't have to freak out. This is just a precaution, okay? I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

"Fuck you!" Lovino spat from the wall, trying to crane his neck to look at the younger nation. America was still just sitting on the bed, watching the military guy restrain Antonio with this mildly curious look on his face. As Lovino spoke eyes snapped to him and America looked disappointed. Bastard.

"This isn't your problem. It's not like I'm taking _you_ with me."

Antonio somehow managed to break the buff military guy's hold, stumbling to the other corner of the room and whirling around. "This doesn't have anything to do with _you_, either," he said to America.

"The hero has to save people," America replied simply. Lovino tried to surprise the man holding his hands to the wall by jerking them away but all he did was wrench his shoulder. He hissed in pain and Antonio heard it.

"Let him go," he said firmly, glaring at the tall man. There was no reaction; if anything Lovino felt the grip on his wrists tighten.

"Okay, so if you can calm down for two seconds there's some stuff you need to sign…" America interjected, pulling a few folded pieces of paper from his pocket. Antonio didn't seem to hear him.

"Let Lovi go," he repeated, taking a step forward. All Lovino could think was _here we go again_…

The second military guy stepped in front of him, arms crossed. Antonio lunged forward, pushing past him and heading for Lovino. As he did an arm looped around his neck, pulling him back and into the chest of the man behind him. He cried out, struggling with the arm. Lovino kicked back, hitting the other guy in the shin. As he did the grip on his wrists released just long enough for him to duck out of the way.

"War! I'll declare war!" Antonio cried, nails digging into the arm of the man holding him. America stood up.

"Calm down!"

Lovino had just enough time to hear the word _"bastardo"_ before the butt of the gun hit the back of his head. In an instant the world was gone.

…

"You _idiot!_ You _stupid stupid stupid IDIOTIC—goddammit, you ruined everything!"_

America furrowed his brow. This was not the reaction he'd been expecting. He glanced back at the motionless figure in the back of the car.

"What did I do?"

_"What didn't you do?"_ England asked incredulously through the cell phone. He sounded like he was seconds away from bursting a blood vessel. "Let's see," he continued sarcastically, _"You tried to subjugate Spain, you started a war…shall I go on?"_

"I didn't do any subjugating!" America protested. "All I did was invade!"

_"My God, how much of an idiot are you?"_ England asked no one in particular. _"When you say that someone's going to come live with you, it means they're under your control! That's why he declared war!"_

America paused a second, letting this realization wash over him. He looked up at the man driving, his fatigues just slightly askew. "So I shouldn'ta brought Tim and Eric, then."

_"What…oh, I don't even care anymore! _You _have to find a way to fix this!"_

America scratched his head. "…kay then. So what should I do with Spain?"

_"…what?"_

"Where should I put him?"

_"Oh God. Why am I not surprised? Where is he?"_

"Right in the back here. He's out cold, though. Where should I put him?"

_"YOU HAVE HIM WITH YOU?"_

America winced, jerking away from the phone. Eric glanced over from the driver's seat, one eyebrow raised. Gingerly America placed the small device back to his ear, waiting for the onslaught.

Instead, all he heard was a bit of heavy breathing. He waited a moment. "England?"

_"I thought,"_ England started, sounding strained, _"that I taught you better. I suppose I was wrong_."

America's chest suddenly felt heavy. He paused, unsure what to say. Before he could speak England continued.

_"Fine. Bring him here. If we're holding him hostage we might as well do it properly."_

"We?" America tried. "That mean you're with me?"

_"I don't have much choice, do I? You'll fuck the whole thing up without me."_

America wasn't used to England using much profanity so he was a bit taken aback. "It'll be fine, you know? No big deal," he tried to comfort the older man.

_"Save it. I'll expect you today."_

America agreed and said goodbye. He flicked the cell phone closed, staring out the window. After a moment he realized there was still someone else to call.

He opened the phone again after another quick glance at Spain, going into his Contacts. He scrolled down to the "G" section until he found the right name.

The meeting would have to be sooner than Wednesday.

…

Lovino awoke to a pounding headache. At first he didn't realize where he was, but then the smell of an unwashed carpet met his nose and the previous events came rushing to him in dizzying detail.

"_Fuck_!" he cried, hand slamming into the floor. The room was fairly quiet. He looked up, vision still a bit blurry and headache almost debilitating. There was nobody else there.

He took a deep breath, trying to force himself up. His arms wouldn't carry his weight, however, and he fell back down. Lovino scrunched his eyes closed, biting his lip as he pushed up again. This time he managed to lock his elbows into place and he didn't fall. He stayed that way for a long time, grating his teeth.

Then, using all of his energy, he slid a leg up under himself. After a moment the other came with it and he was on his hands and knees. His hand came up to rest on the bed, a steady mantra of "fuck…fuck…fuck…" barely escaping his lips. He paused, wondering why the hell he was so weak.

Then he pushed himself all the way up. He growled as he did, finally reaching a standing position. His hand flew up to his head, gingerly feeling around the back. He hissed as fingers touched down on a sensitive spot.

Lovino straightened up, closing his eyes as all the blood rushed from his head. At once he felt woozy and did his best to land on the bed when he fell. This was going to be harder than expected.

"Goddamn Antonio," he intoned, sitting up. His fingers gripped the edge of the bed as he took a deep breath. Goddammit, his head hurt.

It was odd. Where he should have been freaking out, worrying himself sick over where Antonio had been taken he found he really didn't care. Well, he did, but not as much as he should have. He took another deep breath, willing his vision to clear completely.

He had to call Feliciano. He needed his clothes, first off, and he needed to find out what had happened in international terms. Was there really a war going on now? God, that was even more of a headache than the one he had now. Either way, he managed to reach for the phone on the bedside table, dialing his brother's number without giving it much thought. There was only one ring before Feliciano picked up.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, _fratello_. What—"

_"Lovi!" _Feliciano cried. _"Where are you?"_

"In a motel. What's going on?"

_"It's terrible!" _Feliciano sounded desperate. _"Germany's siding with America and I don't know what I should do!"_

"Wait. So there _is_ a war."

_"Uh huh! I don't wanna have to fight Germany!"_ he wailed. _"We can't fight!"_

"We have to," Lovino countered. "Forget about your little potato bastard! America's an ass. We can't fight with him."

_"Then we can be neutral, right?"_

"Hell no."

_"Please, fratello! I don't want Germany to get huuurt!_"

Lovino sighed. "We can talk about this later. You still got my shit?" There was a pause. "I can't see you nod through the phone."

_"Right. I have your suitcase. You have to come here noooow!_"

"Fine. Fine. Just…where are you?"

_"I'm at the airport!" _Feliciano said with a sniffle. _"Get here fast!_"

"Alright. I'll be there. Just calm down."

_"Okay…"_ Feliciano said quietly. "_We won't have to fight, will we?"_

"Not now. Bye."

Lovino hung up, sighing. He stared at the phone for a second before standing slowly and walking over to where he'd dropped his shirt. Pulling it on, he headed out the door. He didn't care if he'd left anything in the room. Dammit, he hated hotels.

…

_So...yeah...there's a war afoot. And crappy writing :(_

_Review? And if you find any typos I'll give you a cookie :D_


	13. Secession

_Hello, my pretties! How are you all? I got over my writer's block, arencha proud? :D _

_This chapter is a bit shorter than most of the other but that's only because I wrote it and found I had nothing else to add. So prepare yourselves. (Oh, and just so you know Spain's a badass mofo)_

_This whole chapter was also written to the wonderful soundtracks of Hans Zimmer, particularly (www. youtube. com/) _

_watch?v=Z0kGAz6HYM8&feature=related (for the beginning and end) and:_

_watch?v=VAjqUfYvgsc&feature=related (for the middle scene)_

_ANYWAY. Here is the chapter, updated far faster than the others XD Enjoy!_

...

"Please, _fratello!_"

Feliciano clutched Lovino's arm, staring up at him with wide eyes. Lovino looked away and held his ground.

"I'm already…allied…with Antonio. We both are. We can't just leave him after what America did to me."

Feliciano's hand came up to touch the back of his head. There was a small bruise there, one he didn't remember getting. Lovino had told him about it, had told him to feel it, but he still couldn't deny it was there. Or where it had come from. He bit his lip, eyebrows furrowed.

"Can we _please_ stay neutral, then?" Feliciano asked. Lovino shook his head, eyes set. When he got like this it was almost impossible to change his mind. Unless you were Spain, because he could do whatever he wanted around Lovino.

"No. We can't."

"_Please?_"

"_No!"_

"Why not? What's so important?"

"We have to rescue Antonio. From America."

"I can't fight with Germany!" Feliciano said, louder this time. Lovino's eyes widened and he shook off his brother's grip.

"Then tell the potato bastard not to fight!" Lovino countered. Feliciano looked like he was going to cry.

"I can't do that," Feliciano said with a sniffle. "He won't listen."

Lovino looked down at Feliciano for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Tough," he said, but it was quiet. Feliciano's eyes were watering, shining under the fluorescent lights of the area just outside the airport bathrooms. His shoulders hunched and he turned away from Lovino.

"Germany doesn't want to fight me," he started, his voice weak. His chest was aching, lower lip trembling. He wanted Germany to be there. He'd be able to convince Lovino. And he'd be able to hug Feliciano and tell him it was okay. And then it would be, because Germany didn't lie. He'd make it okay.

"So then what's the—"

"But he can't say no to America either," Feliciano continued, cutting his brother off. Lovino stared at him in surprise. "He said he'd leave if there was a war but then America talked to him and he agreed and I don't…" Feliciano took a shuddering breath, willing his nose to stop stinging. "I don't know why."

Lovino was silent for a while. Then, Feliciano felt a hand on his shoulder. "He's a bastard," Lovino said quietly. "If he's doing this to you."

"No!" Feliciano cried, whirling around to face his brother. "_You're _doing this to me! Everything was going to be _fine_!"

Lovino froze. He and Feliciano held a stare for a moment before Feliciano turned away. "Feliciano..." Lovino started. He didn't know what to say.

"Imagine it was Spain," Feliciano said simply. Desperately.

Lovino's eyes widened. Feliciano clutched at his arms, sinking to the floor. Spain. Antonio. He swallowed. Shit. He looked down at his brother, sobs now visibly shaking his body. _Shit_.

They'd fallen hard for completely different teams.

"I…Feliciano…" he started, but he had nothing to say. "_Mi dispiace…_"

"It's not your fault," Feliciano whispered. "It's not my fault."

It's fucking _America's_ fault, that's what it was. Lovino glared at the floor, trying to force himself to do something. _Anything_ would be better than just standing here and watching his little brother…just crying on the floor…just…oh, goddammit.

Lovino took a shuddering breath, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes. "Shit," he whispered, letting his head fall back against the wall. He looked up at the ceiling for a long time, just trying to slow his breaths and calm his tears but the aching in his chest was too…too much…too much everything all at once.

His chest felt like it had been filled with concrete. Thick, dense, heavy, impossible to navigate. He couldn't even organize his thoughts. All they ended in was _Antonio. Imagine Antonio _and _Feliciano. Think of your brother_ and a million other confusing things about Kelly and America and Germany and everyone fighting everyone and Feliciano _crying_ and…

There was a long silence, maybe minutes, maybe hours, and then Feliciano spoke. His voice was thick and unsure.

"We should break apart."

…

Lovino.

That was the first thing on Antonio's mind as his awoke. The next was that he was cold. He was sitting on something cold, but he couldn't tell what. He could also hear America talking somewhere nearby.

Antonio kept his eyes closed and his body limp, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose at the smell surrounding it. It was bitter and he couldn't quite place it. Then, tentatively, he opened one eye just a fraction. At first all he saw was black. He opened his eyes fully, letting them dart around in search of light. He finally caught some to his right, the thin strip of yellow coming from underneath a door.

He shifted his shoulders a little so he could see the door better. It let in just enough light for him to make out the door, the wall surrounding it and a bit of the floor below him. He turned his head just a bit, taking in the bare brass bed behind him.

Antonio made a small clicking noise with his tongue. There was no reaction. He tried again, a bit louder. Still no reaction. Then he faked some kind of pained groan. When there was no reaction to that he decided he was alone.

He was also in handcuffs. He could fell them behind him, and when he tried moving his wrists they caught. Probably hooked to the bed. He took a deep breath.

There were two voices now. One was from England. He listened for a moment but then decided he couldn't make any real words out. There were a few more minutes of conversation before he heard footsteps and a click in the door. Immediately he fell limp, his head lolling to the side. The door creaked open and the footsteps came closer.

"Still out," he heard America say. He thumbed the lock on the handcuffs, feeling for where it was exactly in relation to his wrist. Antonio felt a hand on his head, then two fingers on his neck and the warmth of his breath being returned to him off of a hand. "Still breathing."

"Wait until he wakes up," England said. "He's tricky. I haven't forgotten that."

"Yeah, but didn't you kick his ass too?"

"Shhhh…"

Antonio heard the footsteps as they went back to the door and then the click as the lock went back into place. He cracked an eye open again. The light under the door was the same. He swallowed, feeling for the lock on the handcuffs again. It was a simple one, and he almost felt like there should be a skeleton key to go along with it.

This felt fun. Like the pirate days. He smiled a little. And here he was, escaping from England yet again. He hadn't realized that he'd missed this that much. He bit his lip, trying to figure out what to use to get away.

He still heard the talking outside, and his smile turned into a grin. The handcuffs were linked to the headboard of the bed, and as far as he could see it was stuck on a loop. So England wasn't going to make this easy for him.

Lovi. His face hardened as he thought of the younger man. He had to escape to go get Lovi, wherever he was. That was one thing he'd have to find out. Where they'd stashed Lovino, if they were holding him hostage, what he'd have to do to get him back. It was just a given.

He pulled his legs under him so he was on his knees, arms no longer bent behind him. Then, hunching over, he brought himself up and over the headboard. It was short enough for him to squeeze his body through his arms, and when he was done he crouched on the thin mattress, arms in front of him.

Really, England had lost his touch.

He heard some footsteps outside the door and he froze. He wouldn't have enough time to get back over and into his original position if someone came in. Now he had a time limit. Oh well. That just made it more fun.

He'd always thought England was too serious about the whole pirate thing. If they were going to kill and steal, facing death, then why not have some fun with it?

"He was completely dead," America said. The footsteps passed the door again and Antonio set to work finding something to get him out of these handcuffs so he could get away. Asking some questions, of course, but still getting away.

And then he saw it. The beautiful, wonderful picture of America sitting on the wall. The young man was grinning, eating a cheeseburger in some theme park. That wasn't what Antonio was interested in.

He took a deep breath, hoping he was as flexible as he used to be. Then, very carefully, he lifted his leg up behind him. He scrunched his other leg under him to give more lift. Then, he felt it. He pushed a little, nudging the bottom of the picture frame. He felt the tiniest scrape of metal and grinned. Then he flicked up, the picture coming unhooked from the wall. It fell onto the bed and he caught it with his calf just before it crashed to the floor.

And there is was. He pulled the picture frame closer until he could reach it with his hands. Then, doing his best not to contort his wrists too much, he undid the line of metal wire that had previously been keeping the frame on the wall. It was like England had put it there on purpose.

These really were old handcuffs. He took the piece of wire, straightening it out as much as possible. It was pretty strong for a picture frame. Maybe it was just some utility wire England kept around. Antonio wasn't about question it.

He used the lock on the handcuffs to bend the wire into shape, creating a little dip at the end. Then, biting his lip, he wiggled the wire up, searching around for the spring inside. England hadn't even double-locked these. It was like he was _telling _Antonio to escape. In a moment he found the spring, and he pulled the ratchets on the cuff open.

Then there were more footsteps. He froze as they stopped by the door, and he heard a click. He leaped forward, back into his original position. He relaxed the moment the door opened, hoping that it was the same position as before.

"Hey, England?"

Antonio froze. Shit. The picture frame. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to find the spring inside the second cuff. His heart was pounding as the footsteps came back.

"Did this fall?" America asked.

"It couldn't have," England said. Antonio caught the suspicion in his voice, fighting the urge to swallow nervously. The footsteps slowly made their way over to him, and he hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.

"Spain," England said authoritatively. "We know you're awake."

"How did he get it _down_ from there?"

Antonio nearly let out a sigh of relief as he felt the click of the second lock under his fingers. Then, as England examined his face, he slowly clicked the ratchets out, one by one.

"Check his hands."

Well, there went that idea. The moment America knelt down to look at Antonio's hands the Spanish man jerked them forward, freeing himself. He leaped up, much to America's horror, and dashed out the door.

Grinning like a madman.

"How the hell did he do that?" America cried incredulously. England didn't seem to be paying him any attention.

"Oh, hell," he muttered, starting after Antonio. America followed.

Now this was a chase. Antonio couldn't keep the smile off of his face. Just like old times. He almost felt like reminiscing, were it not for the fact that he was currently being pursued by the enemy in a war. And the fact that if he was caught he wouldn't be able to help Lovino.

Lovino. Shit.

Antonio made it outside, dashing down the side steps of America's large house. He wasn't even out of breath. There were some metal trash cans by the garage, and he spotted them immediately. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the other two men were no longer following him. He slowed to a stop, ducking behind America's large pickup truck.

"Spain!" he heard England yell. "Get back here!"

Yeah, right. Antonio peered through the tinted windows of the truck. "Where's Lovino?" he called back. There was a pause.

"That's classified!" he heard America yell. Antonio rolled his eyes.

"Tell me or I smash the truck!"

He could have sworn he heard some kind of squeak. "Okay! He's—"

"He's with Germany!" England replied.

Antonio froze solid. There was a long pause where he couldn't find anything to say. And then, "…he is?"

There was no answer for a moment. Antonio found himself staring off into space. If Lovino was with Germany then there was no telling what might happen. He swallowed thickly.

Then there was a hollow click. He knew that sound. "Yes. And I suggest you come with us if you don't want him hurt."

The cold of the gun barrel met Antonio's head, nestled in his hair. "_Inglaterra_…" he warned, eyes hard.

"We're at war. You know I'll shoot."

It wouldn't kill Antonio, no. But a shot straight to the head would be completely debilitating. It would throw his people into disarray and destroy what he'd been building up since Franco's time. He couldn't afford it.

And then, sweet salvation, he saw it. The little metal ring sitting in the driver's seat of the truck. It just sat there, partially obscured by some package, and it was perfect. Exactly what he needed. The keys.

America was an idiot, and for the first time in his life Antonio was glad for it. He started laughing. He couldn't control it.

"What are you laughing at?" England demanded, nudging Antonio's head with the gun. Antonio took a deep breath, still grinning.

In a second he kicked back, catching England in the stomach. The other man stumbled with an "oof," giving Antonio just enough time to open the truck door and hop inside. He locked the door, snatching up the keys and getting into the driver's seat. Then he revved up the car, choosing to ignore the pounding on the window.

Then there came something he wasn't exactly expecting. He heard the breaking glass just as he stepped on the gas, still close enough to hear America's pained cry as England slammed the butt of the gun into the passenger window.

But then Antonio was flying down the driveway, slowing just enough to turn onto the road. Then he gunned it, thankful for the relative emptiness of these back roads. He was out of sight in seconds, oblivious to the world except for one thing.

He was coming to get his Lovi, and good luck to anyone who got in his way.

…

Lovino froze. He wasn't sure he understood what his brother was saying.

"Feliciano…_chè…?"_ he forced out, mouth open. Feliciano turned to look up at him, his tear-stained face contorted in pain. He sniffled as he stood up, turning toward Lovino.

"I love you…" he started, not quite meeting Lovino's eyes. "You're my brother but…" his lower lip started trembling again. "You want to help Spain and…I can't fight Germany," he whispered. He wiped at his eyes.

Lovino just stared, uncomprehending. "What the fuck, Feliciano?" he asked, but it wasn't angry. It was just confused. Mourning. Helpless. He hated the way it sounded.

"Please don't be mad," Feliciano said, finally looking up and into Lovino's eyes. "Please don't."

Lovino snapped. "Don't be fucking_ mad?"_ he cried, unable to help the tears that broke over and started down his cheeks. "We're one country, got it? One _fucking Italy_."

"_Fratello_…" Feliciano pleaded. "I just…"

"Did you _forget_ or something?" Lovino demanded, his voice rising. "All that time and effort we took to unify, to make one big, great, _fucking fantastic_ Italy and now some German guy comes along and you just say 'To hell with it?'"

"Lovi…don't…" Feliciano whispered, unable to do anything but stand there. A teardrop ran down to his chin and dripped, staining his shirt.

"So this fucking potato-eating _shithead_ is more important than your own _family_?" Lovino screamed, earning some stares. He didn't give a shit. "Is he? I guess so, if you want to break us in goddamn _two!_" His fist slammed into the wall behind him.

"Lovi!" Feliciano cried, vision blurring. Lovino gasped out a sob before he was able to continue, feeling completely out of his own control. No. This was _not_ going to happen. Italy was one thing. _One fucking thing. One country. One people. _

"What would Grandpa say?" Lovino asked, voice lower but biting and harsh. Feliciano's eyes scrunched up and he didn't say anything. "Well?"

"I love you," Feliciano repeated. "You're my brother."

"Then why don't you start fucking _acting like I am?_" Lovino cried. Feliciano hugged himself tightly before the dam broke. He wailed, falling down to his knees again. Lovino bit his lip hard, feeling a little crunch as he broke the skin. Fuck this. Fuck the world. Fuck everyone.

"Feliciano?" he tried, but it didn't come out authoritatively, as he'd planned it. Instead it was broken, weak, dead. He crouched down, reaching out for Feliciano's shoulder.

His hand was slapped away and Feliciano shot up. In a second he was running, through the crowd of people and out of sight. Lovino's eyes widened and those goddamn tears just kept coming. He sighed long and hard before curling up into a ball on the floor, hugging his knees up to his chest.

Lovino stayed that way a long time, numb to the world around him. And, for the first time in his life, he felt truly alone.

...

_*cries in dark corner*_


	14. You Can Try

_I'm so sorry D: I've been a bad, bad person and it took me quite a while to get this chapter up. I blame more massive writer's block, though I really should take responsibility. School has just been...blegh. _

_Anyway, here is another chapter! As I said, I was suffering from writer's block so bad it was like my brain was exploding so the first part is...well..._

_*sigh* Enjoy._

...

Lovino wasn't going to go on another wild goose chase after Antonio. He wasn't. He had decided that already, that he wasn't going to go looking for the other man again. Too little had come from it and there was nowhere he knew to look. So, reveling in the fact that he was thinking clearly for once, he decided to go home.

Never mind that he and Feliciano weren't a…you know. Never mind that. He could just go to Rome, to his namesake, and there he could just sit back and try to forget for even a day that any of this was happening. He'd let himself get too caught up in the moment, losing sight of the bigger picture. He needed to get away to reflect on the past week. So much had happened and it was too painful to look at now.

So he called up some of his guys and had a plane sent. It was really one of his and Feliciano's but now he wasn't in the mood to share. He was too busy forming plans. Plans that had to do with his brother and the fact that they would have to reunify at some point.

Lovino's tears were long past, too, and they left him feeling numb. His brother was gone. Antonio was nowhere to be found. The world was against him. He had no one to talk to, to take comfort in. Not that he ever had before. It wasn't in his nature to run to someone when he cried. He was a lone spirit, cast upon his own wind. And he usually made it out alright.

It didn't take long for the plane to arrive and for Lovino to board. He was alone, save for the pilot and a couple crew members, in the large cabin, and he was glad for the peace and quiet. He just didn't want to think for a while. So he didn't, staring out the window as they took off, headed straight for Rome, Italy.

Maybe, he decided, he could just give up. Forfeit, or go missing, or do something so that he wouldn't have to fight. He couldn't fight his brother any more than he could fight Antonio, or his brother could fight Germany. The goddamn potato…Lovino couldn't even put into words his displeasure with the man. For stealing his brother. Yes, he could be petty about it. Germany had stolen his brother from him, had made the young, innocent man feel like he had the right to just leave his own family alone in the midst of a budding war. When he had no such right. This wasn't his world. He couldn't do whatever he wanted.

It was with these thoughts that Lovino eventually fell asleep. First he'd gone to the restroom, seeing the giant bags under his eyes in the mirror. He needed to calm down and let himself relax, and that's what he did, sitting in his comfortable chair on the smooth flight. He didn't need to care anymore, not now that everything was lost. He could leave it alone and wait to put the pieces back together when it shattered. And he wouldn't have to try anymore.

Peace.

…

Feliciano sat on a bench in the airport for longer than he could say, just watching everyone pass by. He felt so cold inside. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, and not one he liked. And he couldn't stop replaying the previous moments over and over in his mind. Lovi crying. Lovi screaming. Lovi wanting Feliciano to love him.

The tears started welling up again but Feliciano promised himself he wouldn't cry again. He couldn't. He had to be strong. If he was going to be his own country now he'd need to be independent. That meant he couldn't cry. The tears still came as he thought about Lovino. Then his thoughts turned to Germany. Germany was worth this. Germany was strong enough to hold him up. Germany would help him.

If no one else would.

He needed to go see Germany, who was probably at his own house now, preparing for war. Feliciano could help him. They could work together now. He could ally himself with Germany. Just at the cost of…he couldn't say it…he was going to cry again. Just at the cost of his brother.

_What would Grandpa say? _Feliciano didn't know. He didn't have a clue what Grandpa Rome would have said about his secession. It wouldn't be good, he knew. There would be disappointment. He didn't want to think about that.

Instead, he reached into his pocket for some money. There was a pay phone right next to the bench, and reluctantly he rose to meet it. He had to see Germany.

It only took a moment for them to verify it was him and send a plane. They also said that Lovino had also just taken a flight. Did he want to follow? No. He was going to Germany. Germany. His thoughts were dominated by the other man.

He wasn't sure when it started, but he'd become so close Germany. Probably around the first World War, that's when they'd really met for the first time. And all lingering thoughts of the Holy Roman Empire that Feliciano may have had were shot down in an instant. They were replaced by…Feliciano didn't know. Was it love? Friendship. No, it was stronger than friendship. He needed Germany for everything. To live, he needed Germany.

He needed his brother too. He hadn't realized it, had taken it for granted, but he needed Lovino too. But Germany was more important, right? He didn't know.

About a half hour of these terrible thoughts later a man came up to tell him the plane was ready. He followed, still numb. Though he'd been trying not to he bit at his lip.

There was some kind of delay before he could take off but Feliciano was hardly paying attention. He was sighing too much, he realized.

The plane was big and empty and it only made Feliciano feel more alone. He wished for all the world that someone, anyone, was there with him. It didn't matter who. Just another face he knew, someone to talk to and tell his fears to. Instead he got the eerie hum of the engines in the desolate cabin. He wanted to sleep. He wanted the journey to pass quickly. But even looking out the window at the bright curve of clouds and sky felt barren and cold. Maybe this was his punishment.

There was one stewardess, and he tried to engage her in conversation. She was too nice, though, in that fake way. It was because he was a country, wasn't it? She wouldn't listen to his problems or sympathize. She wasn't a friendly ear, however appealing she tried to make herself. He gave up.

He was so alone, lost within his own mind. And he only prayed they'd land soon and he'd be able to find Germany. Then maybe he could fill the hole in his chest.

…

Antonio drove for a long time. He only hoped he knew his way back to New York City, where he'd need to get on the first flight to Germany. They'd make allowances for him, he knew. Especially if he twisted a few arms. He had to get to Lovino as soon as possible and nothing was going stop him.

He made the call while making his way through city traffic. He needed a plane made ready, and fast. He was surprised to hear that one of the Italian planes was planning to leave for Germany too. Immediately he'd ordered to be placed on that plane as well. Maybe it was Germany trying to be inconspicuous by taking Lovino on a flight separate from one of his. It was really too obvious.

He pulled into the airport and was immediately met by a group of men wearing black. One of the perks of being a nation, he'd figured out, was that you could get pretty much anywhere you wanted within a day or so. No lines, no layover time, and waits were only as long as it took to get a plane ready.

They'd made a deal with the pilot of the Italian plane, having it wait just long enough for Antonio to board. That was, of course, just enough time. He dashed on board, staying in the smaller coach cabin. He had to make sure that when they landed in Germany his presence was a surprise, lest he lose that necessary element and be captured again. All he had to do was wait.

…

When Lovino got off of the plane and stepped into the airport it was about four in the morning and he was tired. His brain had ceased all real function hours ago, and his irritation at the world around him was at its peak.

He went through the packed Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino Airport, making his way past endless groups of chattering tourists gawking at Italian signs and trying to figure their way out of the large building by jabbing their fingers into city maps. Lovino was really just functioning on autopilot, and he'd made enough trips to and from this city that he could make it out even in his daze.

They'd even left a car waiting for him when he left, and it picked him up right at the door. He must have fallen asleep in the seat because it seemed though he'd only blinked before he felt the familiar jerking and swaying of the car heading into the smaller Roman side streets. He couldn't express how much of a relief it was when he looked out the window and saw everything in Italian. He'd grown infinitely tired of English and America in general.

Eventually the small car stopped, right in front of the apartment building he stayed in while spending time in the Greatest City on Earth. With the capitals. Um…forget it, he was tired.

He lugged his suitcase up the stairs, eyes glazing over as he let himself into the darkened apartment. Then he set everything down and collapsed in the nearest bedroom. It barely registered in the back of his mind that it was Feliciano's bed he was lying in.

That night he had a dream.

In it, he and Antonio were standing by a cliff, watching the sun set. It was peaceful at first, but then the sky started to darken and it began to rain. Antonio said something about it being a sad day. Then there was another cliff, as though right across from a ravine. And, at its peak, Lovino saw the thin figure of his brother.

It was dark and cold, but he knew who it was. And then Feliciano jumped. There was no warning, no long yelling match where Lovino tried to stop him—it just happened. And Lovino could only watch as his little brother's body fell out of sight, down into the black. Lovino cried out, reaching for the cliff.

Then Antonio…but no, he was Spain…stood up, saying that Lovino should have saved Feliciano. He could have and he should have and now the most innocent of them all had been killed. And then Spain stepped toward the edge. Lovino reached for him, grasped at his ankle but his hand wouldn't close and his voice wouldn't work. And so he just sat there, holding his breath as the rain became the only thing he could hear and Spain the only thing he could see and then Spain took a step and…

Lovino jerked awake, eyes snapping open into the pitch-black room. His breath was short and all he could do was stare at the ceiling. It was a warm night, and his body was coated in a cold sweat. Then, ever so slowly, he closed his eyes again, sitting up. He took a deep breath, slipping off of the bed and stepping out into the hall. The air was dark and thick with humidity but that was how he liked it. He wandered into the kitchen, flicking on the light.

He let the tap run for a few seconds before filling a glass and downing it in seconds. Where was that damn clock again? His eyes flicked around the room until they found the clock on the wall. It was almost ten in the morning. He'd really slept in too long.

He figured his mind still hadn't quite wrapped around what was going on just yet. It all hadn't quite sunk in yet, and he felt like he would always be too tired to understand. He'd always be just a bit too sad, a bit too slow, a bit too sleepy to fight in whatever…there was a war going on, wasn't there? A war. Or it was starting, at least. Lovino had always found it funny how history textbooks made war out to be this direct, automatic thing. It just started and you knew.

But he didn't know. He wasn't sure he knew anything anymore. Lovino slumped into a seat at the table, laying his head on his arms. There were some voices outside the window, echoing through the narrow streets. Lovino listened to them for a moment, letting himself settle into the fact that he was back home now and he didn't have to running all over for anyone anymore. He was fine here now. He didn't need Feliciano, or Antonio, or…or…

He sighed. He needed to go do something, something active but not running around after someone he knew he'd never find. He'd had enough of that. Lovino wanted to go out and shop for something, maybe go to a market and buy something he didn't actually need. Maybe he'd watch people as they walked by. Save a tourist or two from getting completely gypped. Or just let them go.

It didn't matter. He just needed to get out and stop thinking about goddamn Feliciano so much. It couldn't be good for him.

…

There was a large rumble and a few seconds of shaking as the flight landed. Antonio shot up, slipping through the aisles to the back of the plane. It was big enough for there to be a set of stairs being rolled over, and through the tiny airplane windows Antonio could see the back of Lovino's head as he descended onto the vast expanse of pavement. Then Antonio dashed to the front, peeking his head out the door and waiting until he couldn't see the young Italian man anymore before creeping down the stairs. He ducked behind them, watching as his last fleeting glimpse of Lovino ended with the closing of some double doors.

Antonio ran to the doors, hiding behind the wall next to them and peering into the airport. His breath caught in his throat as he saw Germany striding up to his precious Lovino. Then, to his utter shock, he watched as Lovino lunged forward, wrapping his arms around the surprised German's waist. Antonio's eyes widened before the realization came.

This…this wasn't Lovino.

He felt a bit sick to his stomach as Feliciano started shaking, burying his head into Germany's chest. The taller man closed his eyes, enveloping the shorter in a tight hug. Then he removed one hand to tuck it under Feliciano's chin. Antonio could barely watch as their lips met.

He turned away, staring off into the deserted airfield. He sighed deeply as he realized that he had no idea where Lovino was, what he was doing. If he was safe. If he was alive. Well, he had to be, because Feliciano still was.

_Dios mio_. Feliciano. And Germany. That hug, that _kiss_ wasn't what you did to an enemy. Feliciano was on Germany's side. That meant that Lovino was too. Antonio looked down, mouth pulled into a light smile. It was expected. He couldn't suppose that Lovino would just follow him everywhere. It was silly.

But now this was war. And Antonio had to win. He had to win and keep Lovino alive. He set his eyes, looking back up to the door. Feliciano seemed to have calmed down a little and now he and Germany were starting to leave. This was Antonio's chance, and he had to take it.

Time to fire the first shots, so to speak.

He opened the door quietly, taking a large step into the nearly empty room. Antonio then took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before clearing his throat.

Germany glanced back, almost dismissing Antonio's presence before realizing who it was. He dropped Feliciano's hand, whirling around. Feliciano squeaked, eyes wide as he followed suit, fear glinting across his face before he reached forward to clutch Germany's coat sleeve.

_This is what I have to do. This is what I have to do_. "Where's Lovino?" Antonio demanded, crossing his arms assertively.

"I don't know," Germany said guardedly. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to collect something," Antonio said, mouth spewing the first thing that came to mind. Germany raised an eyebrow.

"And what might that be?"

Antonio raised one arm, trying desperately to tell if it was shaking. "Him," he said simply, finger aimed directly at the quivering Feliciano, who jumped behind Germany. The blond man took a breath, as though unable to form words. Then he smiled a little, and it was dangerous.

"You can certainly try."

...

_Review? And if you can point out any typos I'll give you the sandwich of your choice._


	15. Split in Two

_I'm so sorry this took so long. I've just been running into a bit of writer's block for this, and I'm losing the will to continue...I know what I want to do with it but all my writing seems to take so long to get anything done. So the updates may come a bit slower than usual. For this I am very sorry._

_Anyway, here is the next chapter. Thank you for reading, my lovelies :)_

...

For an eternal moment all was silent. Feliciano stared with wide eyes as Spain and Germany faced off, caught in a silent battle of willpower. At any moment one of them could take a step, just a single step. And it would all be over.

It was Spain who took that step.

Immediately Germany lowered himself, getting into a more defensive stance. His hand found Feliciano's shoulder, the smaller man squeaking as the fingers dug into his skin. Spain was approaching now at a steady pace, only ten feet away, eight, six…

"Don't," Germany warned, eyes dark. "Don't take another step."

"Stop me," Spain challenged.

"Feliciano," Germany whispered. "Go."

The Italian man gasped, head darting from side to side as he searched for an escape. Spain's gaze locked onto him and he shrunk away. "He's not going anywhere."

"Please, no," Feliciano said quietly. He bit his lip, crossing his arms protectively. "You can't do anything to me…" he tried, his attempt at sounding confident floundering. He looked to Germany for confirmation. The taller man nodded.

"I can do whatever I want," Spain said, voice dangerous. "And what I want is Lovino."

"But I'm not!" Feliciano protested.

"I can tell the difference!" Spain bit, expression morphing into a cold glare. "You're nothing like him."

"Then why…?" Feliciano was so confused. He clutched onto Germany's hand, still planted on his shoulder.

"You're connected. You can find him," Spain said darkly. In reality he was making it all up. He had no idea if Feliciano could do anything. But he needed to try.

"Not anymore," Germany snapped. "As of yesterday they are two separate countries."

"Things don't happen that fast!" Spain countered. "Give him to me!"

It was like something snapped. Spain lunged forward, elbowing Germany in the gut and reaching for the young Italian man. A second later he was gone, a huge fist slamming into his chest and knocking him over. He fell to the floor, his shoulder cracking painfully on the linoleum. How did no one see them? Feliciano wondered. Why wasn't anyone coming?

"Fuck!" Spain hissed, cradling his shoulder as he stood up. "I need him!"

Germany didn't say anything, pushing Feliciano back enough to get him out of the way but not enough to make him lose his balance. His muscles were coiled, all ready for whatever Spain was going to do next. He looked as though he was about to fight in a battle. In a war.

Which, Feliciano realized with a jolt, this was.

Spain took a deep breath, closing his eyes for barely a moment before he jumped again. This time he managed to duck under Germany's swing, making it past his arm and toward Feliciano. It happened in a split second and the younger man had only enough time to register the motion and hold up his arms in defense. A hand grabbed him around the wrist and held tightly, and he squeezed his eyes closed.

"Run!" he heard the deep voice right next to his ear. His eyes shot open to see Germany's face, only inches from his own. He nodded frantically and the hand released him. Without stopping to look back he dashed toward the next hallway, the one that would lead to the incoming flight customs area. There was a yell and a thud behind him, but he couldn't make himself look. Because it might have been Germany.

And that was something he couldn't bear.

…

"Hey, watch where you're going, smartass," Lovino grumbled as he was almost run over by a passing motorbike. In the past few years the little mock motorcycles had taken over the city, along with those tiny little cars that only came in neon colors. It wasn't like the intercity streets had ever been safe for walking—that was Feliciano's city. But this was ridiculous.

In one hand the young man held a grocery bag, filled with whatever he was going to eat that day. Just some simple things, like spaghetti he hadn't had the chance to eat in too long and some fresh tomatoes. A little basil and the spices he had at home and he'd have a good meal. He sighed, glaring at the impossible traffic. The cars came to a red light and he strode across in the small crowd, not wanting to be that poor sap who got run over by the stray taxi.

"If we go here…um…no…Max, you take the map."

Lovino glanced up at a small group of people, easily distinguished from the native population by their pastel t-shirts and bleached jeans. One had sunglasses perched on her head, blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. One was wearing cargo shorts and bright white socks. They were all surrounding the tallest one, probably the father, who was holding a city map that Lovino had seen in every single shop window for the past three years.

These were the tourists.

It wasn't like they were particularly annoying or obtrusive. Except when they were ahead of you in a line, using the Italian they learned from a guidebook to ask for things at a deli or Tabaccheria. They weren't nearly as bad as the Germans…but it wasn't really tourist weather. At least not for those on holiday from their desk jobs or making cars or fighting Russians or whatever Germans did. So here were the Americans, the ones who probably learned that this was the right time of year to come to Rome. When the crowds were low. Right. You want low crowds? Come in February.

Then, to Lovino's utter dismay, one of the people pointed to him. He quickly glanced around, as discreetly as possible, for anyone else they could attack if he could just walk a little faster. Nope. He was pretty much alone, and he guessed he looked rather unintimidating. He needed to work on his glare. All the running and crying had made him a little rusty.

There was a bit of whispering and then the girl with the blonde ponytail came jogging over to Lovino. Oh God.

"_Signor?_" she asked, and Lovino's American theory was validated. "Could you help us?"

Good attempt at the Italian, miss. Lovino sighed. "What?" he demanded, hoping if he sounded good and annoyed they'd leave him alone.

The relief on the girl's face was evident. Lovino had no clue why. It wasn't like there was an English deficit around here. Hell, pretty much everyone spoke at least enough to tell a tourist where they were going.

"Um, do you know how to get back to Trastévere?" she asked. At least the location was a bit unexpected this time. Most people were looking for ways to get to the Colosseum or the Pantheon. It got a bit tiring. Lovino could only pity the people who worked in those tourist information boxes.

"That bridge," Lovino said simply, pointing over, across the street. "It goes into Trastévere."

"Oh," the girl said, looking a bit sheepish. "Thanks."

"No problem," Lovino said, if not a bit sarcastically. "It's honestly not that hard to use a map." The girl nodded and smiled before she went back to her family, pointing over to the bridge.

What, no reaction? No "Hey, that's not nice" or insult?

Oh, right. The accent. She thought it was an accent, maybe broken English. Of course. Lovino may have had a few more things to get used to than he thought.

He sighed sharply, rolling his eyes as he started back. He was still so tired, even after getting a good night's sleep in his own bed. Maybe the fatigue went deeper than he'd suspected. Momentarily he wondered what Spain and the rest of the world was doing.

It was as he was turning around a corner and onto a smaller street that he saw the newspaper stand.

The headline was what caught his eye. Lovino stopped, double-taking before backpedalling and just staring at the newspaper. It sat there in the rack, proudly proclaiming in the Italian he'd missed so much: "Country Split in Two: Civil War on Our Horizon?"

It was like a bad dream. Only more like waking up from it only to find that you hadn't been dreaming at all. A moment later the shopkeeper stepped forward, the word "_prego_" hot on his lips.

"What is this?" Lovino demanded, although he already knew. He had to hear it from someone else. Someone who wasn't in on the country scheme. Someone on the street. This man.

"You want it?" the man asked. Lovino glared.

"_Paese diviso in due…_" he started angrily. The man raised his eyebrows.

"It won't happen. Just rumors from the government. There's no reason," the man said. "We're not even a part of this war."

"If it does?"

"Then it does. We are no better with the North than without, are we?"

Lovino didn't answer, eyes flicking across the first few lines of the article. Then he shoved his hand into his pocket, retrieving a few coins. He snatched up a newspaper, planting the coins into the man's waiting hand.

"_Grazie_," the man said, smiling. Lovino grunted in acknowledgement before starting back down the street. The paper crumpled a bit where he dug his fingers into it, but his mind was elsewhere.

Mostly on Feliciano. How much of an idiot he'd been, then his mind quickly justifying his actions. A debate going on within one mind, one side telling him to go back and the other saying he was right, he didn't need to be a part of this. He didn't need Spain.

Spain. Shit, Spain. Lovino swallowed, clutching the newspaper even tighter, if that was possible. He needed to stop doing this to himself. These were dangerous thoughts. But Jesus. Lovino wondered where the other man was, what he was doing. Whether he was freaking out some more. It wouldn't be beyond him.

Lovino turned a corner, starting up the street that would take him to his apartment. He was just getting back into the swing of everyday life, and it wasn't at all disappointing. At least…not really. It was, you know, nice. To not do much.

Man, he wasn't going to fool anyone. He missed Spain and he missed running around in whoever's car and not just going to the _store_ to _shop_ for _food_. Like the masses. Like the boring, stupid masses who Lovino couldn't honestly care less about.

Spain better find him goddamn fast. Or some shit was gonna go down.

…

Feliciano sat in the airport proper, knees clutched to his chest. His breath had just started to calm down, and as people walked by him he felt the pang of worry slam into him. Germany hadn't followed. Germany hadn't come for a few minutes now. Germany was still there, and he might be in danger.

This was just too much. Too much entirely. This was too much for Feliciano's brain to handle and too much for his chest to take. He needed to do something, anything. Fast.

But what could he do? What was he good for? He sighed, staring unseeingly at a spot on the floor. A man walked over it, his polished shoes in Feliciano's vision for only a second before they passed and it was empty again. Then a woman came by, walking in the opposite direction, her skirt flowing just a little behind her.

Feliciano stood, eyes rising to meet the hallway from where he'd come. He was just outside the customs section, having decided to bypass it using national authority. He could come and go as he pleased now. And he needed to go to Germany. He wanted to…but what help would he be? What would he do except give Germany something else to worry about? He needed to man up, to start making a difference in the world. He was, after all, a country in his own right now. A whole country.

He started toward the hallway again, heart fluttering. Germany was just beyond it, and maybe he was hurt. Or maybe…Feliciano didn't even want to think _that_. But he was stronger than Spain. And more powerful. And better. Just better.

The best. Perfect.

And perfection never lost.

...

_So...Feliciano's going through a bit of an existential crisis. I promise he'll be of more use later. _

_Review? And if you can point out any typos you'll get Canada. _

_...wait, what?_


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